


War Dogs

by nowitsaparty, Thorinsmut



Series: War Dogs [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Anal Sex, Angst, Battle, Character Deaths, Classism, Complete, Cuddling, Dildos, Distrust, Family, Forced Separation, Guerilla Warfare, Guilt, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Multimedia Fic, Near Death Experience, Nonbinary Dwarves, Political Unrest, Recovery, Rescue Attempt, Shame, Slavery, Smut, Social Stratification, Sparring, Whump, bad things happen, brotherly loyalty, hair cutting, middle earth needs therapists, probably the most painful fic I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 36,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2282382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowitsaparty/pseuds/nowitsaparty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erebor never fell.<br/>When Nori is taken as a war dog, a mindless slave, in a botched rebellion against Thror's rule - Dwalin swears he will do anything it takes to rescue his betrothed.<br/>To get back together will be a longer road and a harder fight than either of them were prepared for.</p><p>
  <span class="small">Writing by Thorinsmut. Concept, Art, and Beta by Nowitsaparty.</span>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack for this fic:  
> http://8tracks.com/nowitsaparty/war-dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which bad things begin to happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be mouseover translations of the khuzdul for your reading pleasure

It was Dwalin's fault.

Nori would never have been in danger, if not for Dwalin. Dwalin had begged Nori to join him. Balin and his parents were off at a meeting at the palace – something about political unrest Dwalin had no interest in – and Dwalin had the house to himself.

Nori had laughed when Dwalin invited him to spend the night, beautiful Nori, always laughing. He was small, sharp as the blades he carried, with the most beautiful red hair Dwalin had ever seen. He was far nastier in a fight than his size would suggest, all speed and cunning. He was lean and quick and sly and _perfect_ , and he was Dwalin's betrothed. They were young, still, but Nori had accepted Dwalin's suit. Dwalin had gifted him with knives of his own working and a song on the viol he composed just for him. Dwalin had been captivated by the best of Dwarves, captured him in turn, enticed him into his life and his bed. Nori was a wonderful lover, in turns greedy and generous, and always playful.

Nori had laughed when Dwalin invited him to spend the night, playing with his braid and stroking gently up and down Dwalin's calf with the tip of one boot. His every look and gesture was tease and invitation even as he made up excuses about how he _couldn't_ visit. He'd kept up the game until Dwalin begged, and immediately relented having gotten what he wanted. Dwalin knew he was easy to play, that Nori had him wrapped tight around his clever fingers, but he didn't care. He just wanted to see the sparkle in Nori's eyes as he laughed, to grab him and kiss him senseless and chastise him for being a terrible tease. Nori was perfect and cozy in his arms, small for a Dwarf even while Dwalin was big for one, and Dwalin liked that.

He always liked to think he could keep Nori safe, protect him, but in the end it was Dwalin's fault, what happened to Nori. He would never have been in danger if Dwalin hadn't begged him to stay in his family's house that night. Nori's family lived far from the places the rebels hit, he'd have been _safe_ , if not for Dwalin.

Nori came to stay with Dwalin in his empty house. They drank good wine from his family's cellars that they probably shouldn't have opened, and they ate together. They made love on the thick bear-skin rug before the fire, right there in the middle of the house. The daring of it gave an edge to the pleasure, until Dwalin forgot it completely, lost in Nori. Dwalin lay on the rug, hands on Nori's hips, thrusting up into the tight heat of his body and watching his beautiful hair unravel from its elaborate peaks. His favorite thing in the world might be watching Nori's pleasure as he fell apart on Dwalin's cock.

Nori's mouth fell open, lips pink from kissing and gleaming like water over cut rubies as he panted. His golden eyes were wide for a moment, staring into Dwalin's like he could see into his very soul, before they rolled back as the smaller Dwarf tensed with his whole body.

“There,” Nori gasped. “More. Harder.” Dwalin might once have been cautious, afraid to hurt him. Nori had taught him better. Dwalin planted his feet, gripped Nori's hips hard, and snarled as he gave him the best he had. It was a hard rhythm they set together, all smack and grind and Nori's rising chant of 'yes'.

Dwalin was not naturally quiet, but he was never as loud as Nori. So many times their lovemaking ended in laughter with their hands across each other's mouths when they worried they would be overheard. With no one to hear them, did their best to outmatch each other in the exuberance of their cries.

Nori finished first, clenching down hard with a shout as his seed spilled across Dwalin's belly. Dwalin was not far behind him. He didn't slow, pounding up hard and fast through Nori's climax, until the smaller Dwarf's cries began to turn sharp and his own climax stole through him. It burned hot through his very bones and Dwalin grabbed Nori close, rolled his love beneath him to spend his seed as deep inside him as he could.

It had all dissolved into kisses and gentle touches from there. Dwalin had carried Nori to the washroom and ran a big warm bath for them both to clean themselves of seed and oil. Dwalin petted the wonderful soft v of red hair that ran from Nori's chest down to his groin, playing in the sparkling water droplets that decorated him finer than diamonds. Nori ran his own clever fingers through Dwalin's thick pelt of rough brown curls, as pleased with Dwalin as Dwalin was with him.

Dwalin was not sure he could be happier, more content. He and Nori had worn their trousers, at least, in case someone came home unexpectedly. They finished the wine and braided each other's hair and fell asleep in a big messy pile of cushions in front of the fire.

They were completely unprepared when the rebels hit.

Nori would have been _safe_ if it hadn't been for Dwalin. They fought the rebels together, of course, but they were outnumbered and unarmed and half asleep. Dwalin had known there was political unrest, some fools saying the line of Thror was weak and a 'true king' was needed on the throne. It was all nonsense, hot air. Thror was old, but he ruled Erebor in power and prosperity, and Thrain was set to succeed him in wisdom and strength. Dwalin had not thought anyone believed the nonsense about a 'true king'. The rebels clearly had counted on that complacency, running through the noble quarter for hostages while everyone still slept.

It made no sense, no sense at all. Dwalin saw people he _knew_ among them, people he'd have thought were as loyal to the royal line as anyone, wordlessly obeying orders and snarling at anyone who got in their way. They ignored him when he called out to them by name, asking them why, _how_ they could do this.

“Oy! Get off of me!” Nori snapped, still fighting, preventing his hands from being bound. He never did know when to stop. Nori's hair was a mess and there was blood in his teeth, not his own.

“This one's not a noble!” someone commented. Nori's accent had given away what quarter he was from. “You're just a pretty bedwarmer, aren't you? You're no hostage, we've got a better use for you.”

Nori spat into the Dwarf's face, screaming his defiance, but Dwalin knew him. He could see the terror in his eyes. He shared it, fighting all the harder.

“No!” Dwalin begged, “Not him, do anything you want to me, but don't touch him! Let him go, he has no part in this!” Dwalin's words were ignored, he was battered and fought down. He was held down by far too many Dwarves to successfully fight against, but by some trick of mercy or cruelty he could still see Nori.

Dwalin watched, helpless, as they fight Nori down to his knees. They dragged one of Nori's hands forward, and a noble who already had blood on his hand stepped forward. He cut his palm, and Nori's, and pressed their bleeding hands together to mingle it.

Dwalin did not even realize what was happening until the other Dwarf began to speak, sacred khuzdul words quiet but audible. It was the only possible thing they could have done to Nori that was _worse_ than rape and death.

And Dwalin was helpless. His screaming struggles were useless as he fought and begged.

“ _Your life only to preserve mine_ ,”

It was not possible, it could not be. Dwalin knew the spell, of course he did - though it had been so long unused it was practically legend. He'd learned it on Fundin's knee, looking up into his mother's face as she explained the responsibility of Mahal's gift. The greatest sacrifice to be given only in the greatest need. It was never meant to be like this.

“ _your thoughts only to protect me,”_

It was supposed to be freely given, the last resort known only to those close to the royal family. If all else failed, if the royal line were threatened, a Dwarf could choose to give their life for that of Monarch or Consort or Princen. It was supposed to be a choice, not like this. Never taken by force in this twisted _perversion_ of the maker's gift.

“ _your weapons only to guard me._ ”

It was a short spell, and Dwalin's voice broke on his screams as the fight drained from Nori's body, as his brilliant golden eyes turned flat and cold and distant. The Dwarves holding Nori let him go. There was no reason to hold him anymore. He'd been turned into a bloody-handed mindless slave just like so many of the others surrounding them, and Dwalin had no more fight left in him either. Hot salt tears burned from his eyes to splash on the floor of his family's home, the sanctuary of it so horribly violated.

“ _Azaghakhakh,_ ” the noble who'd taken Nori's mind named him. Dwalin memorized him – his graying braids, his hawk nose, his beady red-rimmed eyes – hated him with a pure an undying passion. This was the Dwarf he must kill to free Nori, the Dwarf Nori would give his life to protect now.

“ _Guchir,”_ Nori answered.


	2. war dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Nori's perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning that this fic is tagged for Graphic Depictions of Violence
> 
> Khuzdul translations:  
> Azaghakhakh - War Dog  
> Guchir - Master

The azaghakhakh protected its Guchir.

There had been fighting, and it protected its Guchir and followed his orders. Then there had been running, and the azaghakhakh stayed close and protected its Guchir from the soldiers as the group its Guchir was a part of ran out of the mountain and into the cold outdoors.

Then there had been marching, for long hours every day, and the azaghakhakh carried things its Guchir told it to and stayed close to protect him.

Then there had been more fighting, and the Dwarves who had been tied up were left behind as there was more running, and the azaghakhakh protected its Guchir.

After many days of marching, the group settled into a hidden camp, and the azaghakhakh protected its Guchir.

It braided its hair and eyebrows back tight, so that they were not in the way, so it could protect its Guchir.

It kept its blades sharp and ready to fight for its Guchir.

It made sure its Guchir had enough food, to keep him strong. It made sure it had enough food so that it was strong to protect its Guchir. It made sure its Guchir's other war dogs had enough food so they could protect him too.

Its Guchir had two other war dogs, and they were both bigger and stronger than the azaghakhakh. They stayed to the front of their Guchir to face direct threats. The azaghakhakh circled behind to be sure there were no threats from other directions.

There were many other masters and their war dogs in the group its Guchir was a part of, and Dwarves who were neither masters nor war dogs. The war dogs were the greatest threat. They were stronger and faster than others. If a master ordered their war dogs to attack the azaghakhakh's Guchir, it was not sure it could protect him.

It watched everyone, always, to protect its Guchir. It slept close to its Guchir's other war dogs, taking shifts so their Guchir was always watched.

Sometimes its Guchir talked with other Dwarves. It kept a very close eye on the other Dwarves and their war dogs at those times. Its Guchir referred to the azaghakhakh as 'the pretty one' or sometimes 'the clever one', but mostly did not talk to or about it.

Sometimes, when it had been too long since the war dogs had anything to fight and they grew too tense and snappish, the masters would let them out to fight each other. The war dogs fought hard, but they would not injure themselves or each other in unarmed matches. Protecting their masters was too important. The Dwarves would gather in a circle and send war dogs into the center in pairs or groups, to fight. The Dwarves would scream and throw money to each other as the war dogs grappled. The azaghakhakh was small, but it was fast and strong and often won its matches. This pleased its Guchir.

There were many other Dwarves in the group its Guchir was a part of. The azaghakhakh watched them all, and some of them watched it. They stared when it passed, if it had been sent out to hunt for food and was alone. If it had removed its shirt to keep it clean so the azaghakhakh was not weakened by sores and illness caused by being dirty. Some of them made sounds or words at it.

Once, one of them tried to touch it. The azaghakhakh was grabbed by the arm and pulled into a sheltered corner, and a Dwarf who was neither master nor war dog groped at the azaghakhakh's body. His breath was hot on its face as he gasped quiet words at it.

The asaghakhakh growled and pushed away. It needed to return to its Guchir. It had hunted with its snares and traps and needed to return with food for its Guchir. It needed to be always on guard to protect its Guchir.

The Dwarf did not let go of it, prevented it from returning to its Guchir.

Removing a hand did not take much strength, with a sharp knife and a knowledge of how joints worked. The azaghakhakh had both. It quickly twisted the Dwarf's wrist up and then snapped it _down_ , tip of a knife cutting through the connective tissues all the way around, and the hand was removed. The azaghakhakh dropped the hand – it was not useful – and took the food it had hunted to its Guchir. Behind it the Dwarf was screaming as the blood sprayed from his arm, but he was not a threat to its Guchir and did not matter.

After that, no Dwarves tried to touch it again. They still looked, but looking did not get in its way and did not matter. It could still protect its Guchir with Dwarves watching.

The azaghakhakh protected its Guchir.

Its Guchir's other war dogs ranged out in front, facing any direct threat. The azaghakhakh was more likely to circle behind and keep its sharp eyes open for any more subtle dangers.

The azaghakhakh kept its knives sharp, and its eyes open, and protected its Guchir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theme song for War Dogs:  
> Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums by A Perfect Circle  
> http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/97301396413/a-perfect-circle-counting-bodies-like-sheep


	3. homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin comes home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be mouseover translations of the Khuzdul

Dwalin did not look up as he came back in through the great gates of Erebor.

He'd been dragged out through them, a bound hostage, when the attempted rebellion were routed by the palace guard. Even with their war dogs, the rebels were not nearly strong enough. They were powerful, dangerous fighters – but war dogs fought as individuals, not a joined force.

Dwalin had been dragged out, along with many other noble hostages. The rebels ran north, and Dwalin did not know where they thought they were going. The hostages were bound and guarded by both war dogs and Dwarves who'd chosen to serve the rebellion. It did not take long for Dwalin to learn to tell the difference. There was an alert tension in the way the war dogs held themselves, an unchanging blankness to their expressions, a suspicion in the way they looked at everyone but the monsters who'd turned them. They responded to nothing but their _Guchûr_.

He caught glimpses of Nori, sometimes. He was always close to the despicable noble who'd turned him, at his back and watching everything with his hair braided back tight and his knives handy. Nori saw Dwalin, but he did not _see_ him. He did not respond no matter how Dwalin called out to him, until the rebels grew tired of hearing him. It was made very clear to Dwalin, with boots and fists, that as a mere second son he was not a valuable hostage. That if he were a problem he could be turned to a war dog too, or they could order Nori to kill him, depending upon their whim.

Dwalin bled into the dirt, hands bound so he could not tend to himself or wipe it away. He chose silence, after that.

He turned his attention to helping the other hostages as much as he could, with his hands bound. Not everyone taken was as strong as he was, and they were forced to march fast – and at night they slept on the bare ground with no protection from the cold. It was cold and would only get colder, Dwalin overheard enough to know they were heading for a hidden base in Thaforabbad, somewhere in the cold-ridden gray mountain.

It was days before Erebor's army caught up with them.

War dogs were ferocious in a fight. The rebels threw them at the army, and it was horrible. They were civilians, workers who'd been caught on the wrong place. They were outnumbered. This was not their _choice._ Those who were ordered to face the soldiers, who were ordered to _die_ , did it without the tiniest moment of hesitation. They faced armed and armored soldiers with whatever small weapons they had been taken with. The war dogs fought on through injuries that should have disabled them, never slowing.

It was carnage.

The rebels were cowards, for all their talk of a brave 'true king'. Who but cowards would force loyalty and make war dogs? When they realized they could not win against the army, they pulled back their war dogs, abandoned the hostages, and ran.

Dwalin's wrists were chafed raw from the ropes when his hands were cut free. The soldiers armed him with a knife and an axe. It was all he needed.

“They're heading for a base in Thaforabbad.” Dwalin tested the heft of the axe, baring his teeth through bruise-split lips. “We can catch them.”

They looked at him as though he was _mad_.

“We can't fight them,” an officer explained. “Erebor has taken too many losses. We have the hostages, that's all we're here for. We can't afford to lose soldiers on revenge.”

“Don't fight the war dogs!” Dwalin argued back, “Kill the _Guchûr_ , and the war dogs will be freed. It's not revenge, it's _rescue_.”

“We rescued the nobles already,” he was told. “Erebor can't afford the soldiers.”

Dwalin argued to chase the rebels, and then he begged for just a few soldiers to accompany him to try to free Nori, and then he tried to convince individuals to join him in a rescue attempt. Later, after each one had failed, he was caught trying to creep out of camp alone to go after them.

The rebels had Nori, and Dwalin could not abandon him. He _knew_ who he had to kill to free his betrothed, his love. If their positions had been reversed, he knew Nori would not have been caught on the escape. Nori was too quick and too clever – or he _had_ been before they stole his mind.

“They have my betrothed,” Dwalin explained again. “It's my fault they have him, I have to get him back.”

He broke the nose of the officer who _dared_ suggest Nori could be replaced – that there were plenty of pretty commoners in Erebor to warm Dwalin's bed.

Dwalin was very nearly bound and dragged back in through the gates of Erebor the same way he'd been dragged out. Rather than binding him with ropes, they bound him with responsibility. A harness was rigged up, and Dwalin was given the task of carrying three children who had been taken hostage and could not keep up. They weighed him down like stones – but they were injured, and they had suffered, and he carried them home.

It had been made clear to Dwalin, though gently, that if he were caught trying to escape again he would be bound and considered as trying to join the rebels.

Dwalin did not look up when he walked back through the great gates of Erebor. He did not meet anyone's eye when he turned the children over to the healers and their parents. He did not go with the healers himself.

Crowds had turned out to see the hostages returning, looking for their families – though most of them would not be returning. Only the nobles, all the commoner war dogs had been abandoned. _Nori_ had been abandoned. No one stopped Dwalin when he slipped away, still looking at nothing but his battered boots. He headed mindlessly for home. He had no strength left for anything else.

Dwalin did not look at anyone or anything until Dori called his name. He stopped in his tracks and took one deep breath before he looked up. This much he owed to the Dwarf who would have been his brother.

“Dwalin...” Dori's hands were twisted together in front of him. His graying braids were perfectly immaculate as always, but the circles under his eyes betrayed the strain of the past days. Little Ori clung to his side, eyes wide and worried as he took in all of Dwalin's bruising.

“Where's Nori?” Dori asked, clipped but polite through lips blade-thin with stress. Winning Dori over had been harder than winning Nori's affections. Only taking an honest interest in Ori had eventually warmed him, when Dwalin gifted him with supplies for his scribe studies and talked with the masters of the Royal Library to be sure Ori was allowed access. Dori cared about nothing but his brothers, head of his family since the passing of their mother.

One thing only, Dori had asked Dwalin. One thing – to take care of Nori. Dwalin had sworn to it readily. It was the desire of his own heart to keep Nori from harm.

The blade at Dwalin's side was sharp, but the two braids of his beard were thick. He did not break eye contact, saw Dori's growing horror as Dwalin sheared his face as bare as his shame. He pressed the braids into Dori's shaking hands. The air moved strange against his bare throat.

“They took him as a war dog, _nadaduh_ , and I could not save him.”

Dwalin turned away as Dori crumpled to his knees in the street. He had nothing – no comfort to give himself or anyone.

“I trusted you. I _trusted_ you with him!” Dori's screamed accusation hit Dwalin like a knife between his shoulder blades. His shoulders bowed under the pain, but he did not look up, and he did not stop walking.

There was no one at his family's home.

The doorway was still marked, scraped with the violence of being broken down. There was no safety in this place. Things that had been broken in the attack were gone, replaced or just missing. The bear skin rug was lying in front of the barely-burning brazier of the fire, as if it were just waiting for someone to curl up on it. The knives Nori had left behind were arranged neatly on a side table. He'd taken with him only the curved knives he wore on the back of his belt and the pair he kept strapped to his forearms. Dwalin's courting knives were here, months of work on crafting and design until they were perfect – and Nori was gone without them now. They were perfectly sharp, Dwalin had been careful with the tempering to be sure they held an edge. They were as beautiful as Nori, elegant but functional.

Dwalin carried one with him as he walked dazedly through the empty house. Here, the perfect quiet corner to crowd Nori up against the wall to kiss and cuddle him – pulled back in for more when he tried to set his love free. There, where they'd cuddled up together to drink their purloined wine. Here, these chairs where he'd told his family he was going to court Nori and gotten their pleased blessing.

Dwalin could not even approach his bedroom. He wandered lost through the house until motion caught his eye. He glanced up to look full in the face at a mirror. The shame of his hacked off beard and bare throat looked back at him. His face was swollen yellow and purple with bruises – he should have fought harder, been more clever or convincing, done _better_. Above it his hair stood in a crest, cocky and proud to lift him even taller than most Dwarves.

He had _nothing_ to be proud of.

He already had a knife in his hand.

There was blood in Dwalin's eyes as he choked on smoke, gagging with the stench of burning hair – when Fundin came home.

“He's here!” Fundin called back to someone outside, stomping through the house as Dwalin cursed the reluctant brazier. “What in the seven names of...” his mother broke off snarling as she caught sight of Dwalin. “... _inudoyuh_ what have they done to you?”

Dwalin turned away from her concern, only to have his chin grabbed and his face turned back to her.

“None of the others who returned are like...” Fundin touched his shorn cheeks, his freshly bleeding scalp where he'd cut himself shaving off his crest. “What did they do to you?” there was a warrior's stern warning in his mother's tone.

“They took Nori.” It was the worst thing they could have done, and Dwalin was choking on his own tears instead of the smoke now. He tried to kick the brazier that refused to burn the rug, but got his boot tangled in the bearskin and lost his balance. His fall had no grace, a heap of limbs landing hard on the floor, and he hid his face in his hands.

“They took Nori and I couldn't stop them and I couldn't rescue him and... and it was my fault...” If he hadn't begged Nori to stay here, he wouldn't have been caught. He would have been safe. If Dwalin had argued better, or hadn't gotten caught leaving, he might have been able to save Nori.

Fundin pulled the smoldering bear skin out of the brazier and stomped it out under her heavy boots.

“No.” she said firmly, and Dwalin's chin was grabbed again to finally force him to look up into his mother's face. Fundin's hair was pure snow with age, but she was still a warrior to be feared. She shook her head. “The ones at fault are the orc-fuckers who did this. Not you.”

Fundin let him go, and Dwalin closed his eyes again. His mother was back in a moment with hot water and a fresh blade and scissors. She pulled a chair over and sat on it to clean the blood from his face and head, movements brisk and economical. He pulled away from her hands when Fundin picked up the blade to shave his head.

“I'll not have you looking mangy,” Fundin said, grabbing him back, and Dwalin didn't have the energy to fight his mother. He'd never have won anyway – even if some part of him knew he did not deserve to look anything but as shameful of a Dwarf as he was. He tried not to cry on her hands, but this also was a fight he did not win.

“Your father's better at these things.” Fundin sighed finally. She switched from the razor on his scalp to trimming his ragged beard with the scissors. “I just know that it wasn't your fault. You would never have done anything to put Nori in danger.”

“I _begged_ him to stay here,” Dwalin told her. “I fucked him on the rug,” he indicated the singed bear skin with a shaking hand, voice choked and thick. “And then right there...” He pointed to the exact spot. He could still _see_ it happening, “they forced him down fighting and turned him into a war dog and I couldn't... I couldn't...”

“ _Nidoyuh umamu_...” Fundin shook her head again, fingers brushing away the shorn hairs from his beard. It felt as though it were shorter on his cheeks and chin, longer trailing down from his mustache. “You're all heart, you always were. You're not going to be able to live in this house anymore, are you?”

That Dwalin buried his face in his arms and could not argue against it was answer enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for Dwalin:  
> Momma Sed by Puscifer  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dR3ccmWmLhk


	4. the final morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the wait was over

Dwalin kept to his routine, even if this day was anything but routine.

He armed himself with his axes – Grasper to hold what was his, Keeper to never let go – weighed himself down with his travel packs, and left his little house. He hadn't wanted anything fancy when he left his parents' home. Balin lived with him for the first few years, and Dwalin had not realized until after that it was because they did not trust him to take care of himself in the wake of the tragedy. The _karak_ , people had begun to call the rebel's attack. The breaking. Erebor truly had taken terrible losses that day, made all the worse by the abandoning of the war dogs to the rebels.

Dwalin kept to his routine of visiting the Hall of the Taken. It had been carved into Erebor's good green stone in mourning and respect. The Hall was beautiful. The names of the taken decorated it, and it was never dark for the lamps families had set for their lost. It was never empty, always there was _someone_ there, speaking to the names of their family as they might to a grave.

Dwalin never spoke. To speak would be to admit defeat, that Nori was lost forever, and Dwalin would never accept that. He traced his fingers gently across the beautiful runes of his beloved's name, and carefully arranged the small gifts that had been left him – a letter from Ori, biscuits from Dori, a coil of thin wire from a friend. Dwalin refilled the oil in the little lamp and left the little bottle so it could be refilled in his absence. Dori and Ori would be sure of it. Dwalin pressed two fingers to his lips and then gently to Nori's name.

He was coming for his betrothed. After too many years, he was coming for him. It had taken all this time, and all this time Dwalin had never stopped fighting. His despair he'd reforged into a _purpose_. He'd made himself a warhammer and axes as strong as a Dwarf could make, and knuckledusters for if those were taken. He was marked with ink in his skin so he could never forget. He'd trained, endlessly, to be the strongest warrior he could be. He'd heard, once, young fighters saying he was as terrifying to face as a war dog himself.

“No,” he'd corrected them. “If you stabbed me, I would feel it.”

So little was known of war dogs, they had fallen into legend before the _karak_. They existed far out of living memory. A war dog served its _guchir_ until its _guchir_ died, thus Dwalin knew who he had to kill to free Nori.

It was all he had to go on, and even that was not certain. Ori, who had branched out from scribe work to work at the Royal Library, researched and brought tales any tales of war dogs he could find to Dwalin. Many evenings Dwalin spent bent over old texts with Ori.

“Thus did Blainn serve the King, hearing the voice of no other, for all her days,” Ori read out. “And when the days of the King were ended and she returned to the stone, Blainn spoke no word. Nine days she wandered ere she lay herself upon the stone. So returned the loyal war dog to the side of her King.”

“It might not work,” Ori told him.

“It has to.” Dwalin answered. It was all they had to go on. It was their only hope.

There were stories where war dogs returned to themselves afterward, too – but all the old stories were of war dogs who had given themselves by choice. There was no telling how it would be different with unwillingly taken war dogs. Still, he had to try – for Nori and for _all_ those taken as war dogs.

Years, Dwalin had spent arguing for their rescue. Years he stood firm with the shame of his failure to protect bare on his face. The same shame the nobles of Erebor _should_ feel for their failure to go after the rebels and bring their war dog captives home. It had taken his own blunt arguments backed up by Balin and the silver tongue he'd learned from their father. It had taken years and the unending anger of those commoners whose family had been stolen by the rebels and abandoned by the complacent nobles.

Years, and finally Dwalin had been given approval to go after the rebels. It was only a small force that came with him, but it would be enough. It had to be.

Dwalin touched Nori's name one last time, and left. Morning and night he came to the Hall of the Taken to pay witness; to remember. This morning was his final visit. Come what may, he was not returning here. He would rescue Nori or die in the attempt.

His home was behind him, cleaned and locked, ready to welcome Nori back. Ahead of him were the great gates of Erebor and a small group of Dwarves. Young warriors who'd lost family in the _karak_ and trained for this day, old soldiers who'd faced the war dogs during the _karak_ and knew what they were heading toward, and came anyway. Dwalin had searched mainly for Dwarves with ranged weapons, bows and crossbows. If they faced the rebels directly, they would be overrun and killed by the very war dogs they were trying to free. It would take sneaking cowardly attacks to take out the cowards hiding behind their war dogs.

Dwalin's own cousin Oin was with them as a physician – though mainly because the mental effects of being a war dog fascinated him. Dwalin was just glad they would have a surgeon of his skill with them in case things went wrong. Young prince Kili was with them 'in disguise'. Dwalin assumed he planned to 'reveal' himself in their group once they were too far from Erebor to send him home. Dwalin had gone to have a talk with Dis when Kili began frequenting the planning meetings. His bow would be a welcome addition to their group, but Dwalin could not promise his safety. Dis and her wife Farli had given their blessing to Kili's joining him or else Dwalin would have sent him packing.

Dwalin nodded to his company, and then to those who had gathered to see them off. They were a small force, a tiny hope, but they were the first hope Erebor's people had been given for rescuing the war dogs. Dwalin gave an extra, deeper, nod to Dori. Dori blamed Dwalin no more than Dwalin blamed himself, but he had thawed slightly as the years passed and Dwalin continued his fight.

Dori was too far away for Dwalin to hear, but he did not have to hear to know what Dori said. “Do not fail.”

He would not. He returned to Erebor with Nori or not at all.

“Let's move.” Dwalin ordered, and walked with his brave company out through Erebor's great gates.

Home and family and arguing were behind him – before him was Thaforabbad and the rebels and battle. War dogs to free. Nori.

The wait was over.


	5. seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rescuing war dogs

Dwalin crouched in his hidden place behind the rocks, Fili and Kili at his side. Fili had surprised Dwalin's group their third morning out, insisting that they were not going anywhere with his brother without him. Kili, still 'in disguise', had made desperate 'they don't know it's me yet' gestures at his brother, to no avail.

Dwalin had sent a raven to Dis, and confirmed Fili's story that he'd gotten his mothers' permission before chasing after. Kili had been in a snit for days when he realized that everyone had known it was him all along and he hadn’t actually snuck away but been sent off with his mothers’ permission. He'd forgotten all about it by the time they reached Thaforabbad. Their brave raven scouts had found the rebel's camp. Dwalin situated his own camp close enough to keep an eye on them, but far enough away they were not likely to be found – and set so the terrain was to their advantage if it _did_ come to a head-on fight.

He took small groups out to observe the rebels, teaching his company how to tell _Guchûr_ and war dogs from other Dwarves. The war dogs were easiest to spot. They wore their hair in the simplest of braids, a feral threat in the way they moved and a suspicion in the way they watched everyone. Their clothes were the thinnest and most worn. They wore no jackets against the cold of the gray mountains. _Guchûr_ were identified by the war dogs staying close to them always, and confirmed the moment they opened their mouths. Their war dogs paid them full and complete attention the moment they spoke.

Dwalin and his company watched the rebel camp through spyglasses, always careful to keep the sun from glinting off their lenses. It seemed the rebels had formed a hierarchy in their ranks, with the highest ranks those who had the most war dogs, but none of them lived well in the exile they had imposed upon themselves with their failed rebellion. In all these years they had built only the most rudimentary of buildings. They _had_ crafters with them, skilled Dwarves, but they'd enslaved them as war dogs who did nothing but guard. If they hadn't taken war dogs, Dwalin would be more than happy to let them live out their miserable lives in the cold of the mountains.

But they _had_ taken war dogs, and Dwalin would never stop fighting until they were freed. Their minds had been taken from them, and they were not treated well. Dwalin's hands clenched in his knuckledusters, rage hot behind his eyes, the first time he saw them made to fight each other. The Dwarves gathered around in a cheering circle, making wagers as they set their war dogs on each other. It was the first sight many of Dwalin's company had seen of the way war dogs fought. They held nothing back. It was vicious. They attacked with mindless ferocity, grappling and slamming each other into the ground. There was blood, but no serious injuries. Dwalin hoped the rebels would not have sent the war dogs to fight each other if they would kill each other, but he did not dare believe it.

Dwalin's company observed, and planned, and they began to take back their war dogs. They had to be careful, they would be overrun by the war dogs if it came to a true fight. Rebels would sometimes leave the relative safety of their camp for hunting trips – they had little farming and no trade to sustain them. A few _Guchûr_ and their war dogs would leave the main camp, and Dwalin followed with his Dwarves with bows and crossbows. They only had to wait for a moment when they had a clear shot at the rebel. They would only have _one_ shot, and had to make it count. The war dogs would take the arrow for their _Guchir_ if they could, and failing that would attack their rescuers the moment they detected them.

Dwalin crouched, watching their current target and his two war dogs. Kili with his bow was at his one side, young Ivladi with hir heavy crossbow to the other. Dwalin raised his hand, and they both aimed. They knew the drill now, a good team. Kili aimed for the head, his more slender arrows punching through the skulls of the Dwarves he aimed at. Ivladi aimed hir barbed shafts at the heart. If Kili's arrow did not immediately kill the rebel, Ivladi's would bleed them out in moments. It had not been easy for either of them to learn to kill, both so young, but seeing the war dogs helped.

Dwalin clenched his fist, and both fired. The rebel fell, and the war dogs screamed – wordless rage that never failed to raise all the hair on the back of his neck. Dwalin brandished his axes while Fili stood ready with his twin short swords. Kili already had another arrow on the string and Ivladi had dropped to hir knees to reload the crossbow in relative safety. One of the war dogs threw himself over the rebel's body, protecting him from any other attack. The war dog tore the shirt off his own back to try and stem the bleeding wound through his _Guchir's_ chest. The second attacked Dwalin's group. They were up high in the rocks, but that did not stop her. She threw herself at the cliff face, bounding up it in impossible leaps with a scream in her throat and nothing but rage on her face.

Dwalin knew the moment the rebel breathed his last. There was silence as sudden as the screaming had started. The Dam who'd been climbing the cliff hung from it one handed for a long moment before she let go. It was not a long fall, for a Dwarf. She rolled bonelessly through the fall and lay staring blindly up at the sky. The second stood, abandoning the dead rebel and choosing a direction at random to begin slowly walking.

“Well shot,” Dwalin praised Ivladi and Kili briefly. He gestured them to follow behind him as he climbed down to collect the war dogs and deal with the rebel's body. The last thing they needed were the _Guchûr_ to realized they were being hunted.

Fili and Ivladi went after the walking war dog, while Kili stayed close to Dwalin. For Dwalin, this was the most horrible part. Dwalin turned the Dwarrowdam's face so she was looking at him, took her hand and gave a light tug.

“Stand up and come with me,” he ordered. There were a few who were completely unresponsive, but most of them would follow nearly any firmly given order for the first few days. Dwalin did what he could to make sure they were _not_ given orders. Some of the oldest rescued were beginning to come back to themselves gradually, though Oin warned they would likely never be the Dwarves they'd been before they were taken. Such an event left marks that would never fade. They tended to cling together in groups for comfort, afraid as they tried to make sense of the world they found themselves in again. Too many voices at once was difficult for them. From what the most vocal of them could tell, it was disorienting to hear so many after hearing only their _Guchir_ for so long. The rescued Dwarves were docile, for the most part. The only problem they'd had with them so far was caused by one of the Dwarves of Dwalin's company when they'd rescued one of his family members. The rescued Dwarf had become frightened by his excited kin. He was unarmed, but a frightened former war dog could fight like a war dog if pressured. Still, even that was less bad than it could have been. The rescued Dwarf had disabled the Dwarf he felt threatened by and run away.

There had been long meetings where it was made clear to everyone that they must not insist that former war dogs be who they'd been before. That pressuring them to remember things they did not, be things they could not remember, would only frighten them.

It was a hard realization for all of them, Dwalin as much as anyone. He prepared himself for how he must treat Nori.

The rescued war dog blinked up at Dwalin once, and stood. He let go of her hand. She would follow him now like a lost duckling – it broke his heart. Dwarves were not meant to be so docile and pliant. They were carved of stone and forged in fire. It wasn't right. The second rescued Dwarf was following Fili the same way as they convened on the rebel's body. They had a system down for dealing with the bodies. As little as the rebels deserved to be placed in stone, they lacked the wood to burn them and they would not like to give themselves away with the smoke either. They had taken an old cave to use as a crypt. Dwalin unrolled the oilcloth tarp beside the body, so they could roll him onto it to carry him away.

Sharp-eyed Kili noticed that they were being approached first. He had his bow drawn back at the first sign of movement.

“No!” Dwalin gasped. He dragged Kili back, wildly gesturing Ivladi and Fili out of the path of travel, not to attack or look as though they would.

There were few war dogs who would wander far enough from their _Guchir_ to go hunting alone – only those whose master had many war dogs.

Nori was changed. His hair was darker and longer, gone nearly to brown, in an unadorned braid down his back. He'd always been small and slight, but now he was heavily muscled in the way of war dogs. He had scars now, one across his cheek and several across his body – which was bare. He was not wearing a shirt. His eyes, his beautiful expressive golden eyes, were cold as his gaze traveled across their group and away. His always-laughing mouth was flat and grim.

He carried his same knives strapped to his arms and to the back of his belt, the same boots he'd been taken with, though they were worn to shreds now. He had several thin coils of wire tied to his belt and a light hunting bolas. He had a brace of white hares over his shoulder, along with a duck.

Nori saw them. He looked _right at_ Dwalin, and did not know him – like a knife through his heart. Dwalin did not realize how hard he was clinging to Kili's arm until the young prince made a distressed squeaking sound. Dwalin let him go and watched Nori walk past. They were seen and they were not an immediate threat to his _Guchir_ , and were dismissed as Nori walked right past the body of the Dwarf they'd killed.

Dwalin's lungs were begging for air by the time Nori had turned the corner and was lost to sight. He tried to remember how breathing went, how not to run after him and carry him away. Nori wouldn't allow it. He'd fight, and Dwalin couldn't fight him.

“He'll tell?” Kili said, dark eyes wide and worried. “They'll know we're here?”

“War dogs aren't scouts,” Dwalin answered. “They don't... talk. Oh, Nori...” Dwalin's throat choked closed, watching where his lost betrothed had gone.

“That was Nori?” Fili breathed. Everyone knew the story, the Dwarf Dwalin would save at any cost. It was not a question Dwalin needed to answer. Even once he found Nori's _Guchir_ and killed him, he wouldn't be able to have Nori the way they'd been. Not right away, maybe never. Dwalin let his heart bleed out at the cruelty of the world for a single moment before he shook it off.

“Let's get him wrapped up,” Dwalin said, nudging the dead rebel with his boot. His group set to work quickly, and they did not bring it up again. Dwalin slung the ropes of the oilcloth wrapped bundle over his shoulder. Fili had the other end, while Kili and Ivladi stayed on guard and the rescued war dogs followed. If any of Dwalin's company knew the rescued Dwarves they'd soon have names, otherwise they'd send their descriptions to Erebor with a raven to see if their families recognized them.

Soon they would be able to send a group home to Erebor, where they could be helped and taken care of better. Where maybe they could recover a part of who they'd once been.

Ivladi's hand rested against Dwalin's shoulder, brief comforting contact.

“They took my brother, too,” ze said quietly. “We'll get them back.”

Dwalin nodded, looking back where Nori had disappeared one last time. Nori was alive. That was all he needed to know.

Nori was alive, and Dwalin would never stop fighting to free him.


	6. ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> winter sets in

The rescue of the war dogs began well. The rebels were so poorly organized it seemed to take them a very long time to realize they were disappearing.

They grew paranoid in their camp, distrustful of each other. They had no way to know where their companions were going – Dwalin's company left no sign of bodies. They feared each other and they feared leaving their camp, but had no choice. They did not know if they had been betrayed, if a part of their number were breaking away to form a new camp, if there was a monster in the mountains eating _Guchir_ and war dog alike. The little birds the Ravens set to spying on the rebels reported that they did not seem to consider that Erebor could be rescuing the war dogs. The rebels seemed to be of the opinion that if Erebor moved against them it would be with a massive army to crush them. Why should they consider that Erebor might care about the war dogs, Dwarves they themselves held in such low esteem?

The rebels grew terrified of leaving their camp, but they had no choice. They could not sustain themselves in it. Already they had severely reduced the game and trees close to their camp, and had to go further to get food and firewood. They traveled in tight groups, _Guchûr_ with their war dogs, and Dwalin's company grew skilled at picking off multiple rebels at a time. There were losses and injuries, of course, but small ones. Dwalin made sure there were always powerful close-range fighters along with the archers to hold off the war dogs if they ever reached their rescuers before their _Guchir_ died.

Dwalin sent rescued Dwarves home to Erebor, and got supplies and reinforcements back. Ori wrote him to say that their company were being sung as heroes by the common folk of Erebor, and Dwalin wrote him back to say that Nori was alive.

He was, so far, impossible to free. His _Guchir_ rarely left the camp, and when he did Nori guarded him far too effectively. The other two war dogs behaved as Dwalin and his company had come to expect. They ranged ahead of the rebel to be sure there was nothing dangerous before him. Nori stuck to his back, clever enough even with his mind stolen to know that danger was not always in front. There were few war dogs who behaved that way, and they were the most difficult to free. It was near impossible to get a clean shot at the rebel they protected. Even the best archers Dwalin _had_ did not feel they could make the shot safely.

“I'm sorry, Dwalin,” Kili shook his head after another fruitless day of following Nori and being unable to free him. “Maybe an Elf could make the shot, if what they say about Elves is true, but I don't think there's a Dwarf who can.”

“You tried, lad,” Dwalin assured him.

It hurt, every day Dwalin failed to free Nori. The rescue efforts, in general, were going very well. Dwalin's group did as they'd been recruited to do, killing _Guchûr_ and sending their long lost war dogs home where they could be cared for, but Nori was still a slave. 

Ivladi's brother was rescued, and Dwalin was there the day he sought hir out and sat beside hir – as alike as two crystals in a geode – brushed Ivladi's braids back to search hir face for a long moment.

 _“Habanith?_ ” He asked, and Ivladi fell forward to sob on his chest. It was hope, for all of them, that the war dogs would someday remember who they'd been and who their families were.

War dogs were freed and sent home. Some of Dwalin's company left and were replaced, and the weather turned from cold to freezing as the season changed. Dwalin and his company dressed in the warmest they had, and the rebels wrapped themselves in rough furs. The war dogs, though, were given nothing to protect them from the cold. They wore the same ragged clothes that were insufficient for Thaforabbad's cold summer even in the winter. The rebels did not care at all for their suffering. It burned rage in the back of Dwalin's teeth, even while he could not be surprised. No Dwarf who knew how to value the life of another would make war dogs.

Years, Nori had lived this way, and Dwalin could not free him. He stayed far too close to his _Guchir_ whenever the Dwarf Dwalin hated most in the world was vulnerable to attack.

“I can't kill him,” Dwalin groaned, “He's _right there_ and I cannot...” He reached out his hands, clenching them in the air at neck-level to make the chains of his knuckledusters rattle. “All I have to do is kill him and I can't. I can't save Nori.”

Dwalin had made it very clear to the archer who'd suggested it that shooting the _Guchir_ _through_ Nori was not an option. He'd rather ask the Elves for help, when the last thing they could afford was to trust Elves with this weakness or give them permission to shoot Dwarves when they made no secret of the fact they wanted to. Who knew when they'd choose to stop? Even the risky plans of luring the war dogs off with a decoy were better.

“You might not have to kill him, laddie.” Oin said, handing Dwalin a bowl of gruel for his dinner. It was plain, soldier's rations, but it was hot and Dwalin was hungry.

It was better than Nori had.

“I don't like the look of that Dwarf's cheeks... or rather I _do_ , as I want him to die.” Oin continued. “He's swollen, often short of breath, and his lips are blue from more than the cold. I'd bet my mortar and pestle he has a bad heart.” Dwalin rumbled his approval of that around his mouthful of food, but that would be a problem in itself. Who knew what the rebels would do with freed war dogs if the _Guchir_ happened to die in the camp? Would they throw them out, so Dwalin's people could collect them? Would they kill them outright? Would they just bind them to a different master? No one knew if a rescued war dog _could_ be bound to another. No one wanted to find out.

Dwalin could not save Nori, but the rescue of the war dogs went well. The bitter cold of a Thaforabbad winter set in, and Dwalin's company continued their work. Nori's _Guchir_ would make a mistake, he had to, and the moment he did Dwalin would be there.

He just had to wait.

 

It was a simple mistake that ended the methodical sniping at targets Dwalin's company had grown so proficient at. A simple mistake, and probably inevitable. A group of soldiers and rescued war dogs were running a drill to see if the freed Dwarves were well enough to travel to Erebor, and ran across a scouting group of rebels. None of them had war dogs, at least, but they didn't have to.

All they had to do was run back to their main camp, raising the alarm, before Dwalin's archers could catch them.

Dwalin's camp was chaos to rival the rebel's camp, but his was a _controlled_ chaos. The healers and the freed war dogs were sent off to the second emergency camp for safety – the princes too, though they argued against it. Everyone else was armed and prepared for battle. Their ravens swirled in the air above them, conveying news. The rebels were certain they had been betrayed. Some of the war dogs had been recognized, and the rebels decided those who had disappeared had joined Erebor. They thought a massive army of soldiers and war dogs was descending upon them.

Their plan was to flee and send war dogs and the lowest ranking Dwarves to fight them and cover their escape. Dwalin's plan, then, was to force them to flee in disarray and have his archers pick off the _Guchûr_ in the chaos. Any one they killed was war dogs who would not fight. The rebels expected an army? Then Dwalin's company must appear to be their worst fear. They must have no time to think – no time to _plan_. Dwalin strapped on his armor, the fear and anticipation of battle burning through his blood. He was dressed and ready by the time he noticed the most recovered of the former war dogs arming themselves and joining the ranks.

“No,” Dwalin protested. “Go, be safe. You don't have to fight anymore.”

“We hate them,” Dwalin was answered. The former war dogs nodded along with the scar-faced Dam who'd appointed herself their spokesperson, “We choose to fight.”

Dwalin could only bow to their right. He could not take their choice from them.

“Take care of yourselves.” It was all he could ask them. “Protect yourselves.” He could only ask them to value their own lives as highly as they'd valued the lives of those they'd been forced to serve. 

Dwalin led into battle, when it was time. He had archers strewn everywhere, taking out _Guchûr_ as they fled in panic. The Ravens reported that those marching out for the attack were dwindling in number as their masters died. He had groups gathering the freed war dogs up, taking them to safety.

Dwalin and his soldiers and fighters only had to keep the main attacking force occupied long enough for the archers to kill all those who had taken war dogs.

The days of the rebels were over.

Dwalin lead into battle, when it was time. The horizon was dark before him, the air cold and sharp as diamonds in his lungs. Ice dust glittered on the rising wind, cutting through all Dwalin's armor and furs to his bones, and icicles clung to the short hairs of his beard. His axes were ready – Grasper to hold what was his, Keeper to never let go.

The charge began with a single step, solid on the hard packed snow. He felt the heavy shift of his armor against his skin, the ringing of the links of his chainmail. A second step followed the first, a third, his body falling forward to gain momentum. His breath hissed through his teeth in a hard plume of smoke.

Behind him were soldiers and rescued war dogs, all ready to fight. Before him were as yet unrescued war dogs and beyond them his enemy.

“ _Baruk Khazâd_!” the ancient warcry belled from Dwalin's throat, echoed by those running behind him – answered by the wordless screaming of the war dogs.

Then all was death, and pain, and red stain on the snow.


	7. clasped hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after the battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS!  
> for people dying and people knowing they're going to die  
> and watching other people die
> 
> This is probably the worst chapter, but I would like to point out the 'eventual happy ending' tag again. It is not a lie.

It was meant to...

What was it meant for? Why was it?

It was meant to...?

It was _cold_.

It was so cold. The wind burned across its bare skin, stinging at its rime-crusted eyes.

It was meant...?

It was meant...?

It closed its eyes against the darkening gray of sky and the white of snow.

It had no purpose.

It was cold clear through its body, and sank into darkness.

A Dwarf.

It could see him clear behind its eyelids. A big Dwarf, bald and marked with ink, fierce fire in his eyes and deadly axes in his hands as he fought against overwhelming odds. There was blood on his face and axes and a roar in his throat. There was blood on the snow.

It was meant...

It was meant to **protect**.

It opened its eyes to the darkening sky and killing wind, forced its stiff and shaking body to its knees, and then its feet. Beside it was a body, a dead Dwarf wrapped up in layers of furs and fabrics and a shirt it thought might have been its shirt.

That did not matter. It was meant to protect.

It had seen the Dwarf before, at the beginning of the running. It was meant to protect. It must find the Dwarf.

It was so cold, but it tucked its hands into its armpits and walked back the way it had come. It had not gone very far from the camp, empty and silent now, and the battlefield was not far from the camp. There were bodies on the way, some with arrows, and some without. Some dead, and some alive still.

There were many bodies on the battlefield. Blood had frozen into red ice slicks. It was meant to protect, it must find the Dwarf. The Dwarf had been the fiercest of warriors, he would have been in the thickest of the battle. It made its way to the largest piles of bodies, forced its stiff fingers to move, to grip and pull and search through the piles though every touch and motion of its fingers was sharp as knives. It searched, carefully, endlessly. It _must_ find the Dwarf.

It was meant to protect.

The sky had grown dark and gray and heavy by the time it found him. He was beneath others, and he was bleeding heavily. It was careful as it dragged him out of the pile.

It had found him. It had found the one.

It sat beside him. The Dwarf was dying and it was meant to protect him but it was so tired. So tired and so cold. It just looked at the Dwarf, and the Dwarf looked up into its face too. He was saying words at it, but it was so tired. So tired.

It lay down, where the wind was less sharp, just looking at the Dwarf's face – with his freshly smashed and bloody nose, the deep wound running from the side of his face across his eyebrow and to the smashed nose, his heavy brows and the tear-filled blue eyes beneath them.

It was so cold, and so tired, and it had found him.

It did not pull away when the Dwarf wrapped its cold hand up in his. It closed its eyes as words strange but familiar flowed over it, like warmth blossoming through its core.

When it sank into darkness this time, there was nothing to draw it back.

 

Something had gone wrong.

Something had gone terribly wrong, and Dwalin knew it because no one was coming for them. He did not know how long he lay in the bodies with everything agony and the deadly creep of the cold into his bones. The wind was colder than anything he'd ever known, and he was sheltered, some, beneath the bodies that had fallen over him when he could no longer stand up to fight again. It had been brutal, and long – forever it felt like – and no one was coming for them. No one was coming for the few survivors, though he would not be among those ranks much longer.

Not bleeding so freely from the wound to his stomach. His armor was tight, and he pressed his hands over it as tight as he could, but there was only so much blood in a Dwarf's body. Dwalin had people out hunting down the last of the fleeing rebels, he had people gathering up the disoriented freed war dogs. He had to believe that part had gone better than his own. He had to believe they would save the war dogs. Would save Nori without him.

Dwalin gritted his teeth through the pain and if he prayed it was to the maker's stone and the seven fathers for only one thing. Protect Nori. Save Nori. Keep Nori safe, he had suffered enough already.

Nori.

Dwalin could hardly believe it when it was Nori shifting the bodies aside and pulling him free of the dead. Nori, alone, shirtless and shivering with an awful blue tint to his skin – so cold the snow was not melting off of him anymore.

“No,” Dwalin begged, because if Nori had made it all the way here to him, alone, then who was gathering the war dogs?

Nori sat, staring hard at Dwalin's face with no expression, but his beautiful golden eyes finally bright and clear. His beloved was a war dog no longer, he was free, and he was freezing to death before Dwalin's eyes while Dwalin bled to death before his. It was not fair.

“I'm sorry,” Dwalin told him. “I'm so sorry. I tried.” He'd tried so hard, and for so many years, and now this. If he'd been better, if he'd saved Nori in time...

Nori blinked slowly, swaying where he sat.

“You can't stop,” Dwalin told him. If he stayed moving, he might survive. “Take some furs to wrap up. There's a camp up... up that way. They'll find you. They’ll help you. Go there. Please.”

Nori gently fell over, bright eyes still trained on Dwalin. He'd remembered Dwalin, even if he didn't seem to remember speech, even if he wouldn't obey. He'd remembered Dwalin. If Dwalin had been a better Dwarf, had been able to save him, he might have remembered that he loved Dwalin someday. Instead they had this, and it would make a fine romantic tale to sing on a winter's evening but Dwalin did not _want_ to die beside his love.

He wanted to live, and far more than that he wanted _Nori_ to live.

Dwalin was dying. He was dying, and he was going to watch Nori die first.

He couldn't. He couldn't. The wind had changed, the dark clouds breaking overhead. It was warmer, warm enough to snow, finally, but still cold enough to kill. Soft flakes fell, resting on Nori's cold-pale skin, his frost rimmed lashes.

Dwalin was dying anyway. If he were not in so much pain, he might have the strength to carry Nori to safety first. He might be able to save his betrothed before he died. He did not need the reminder of Dori telling him not to fail, the promise he’d willingly made to the Dwarf who would have been his brother. Dwalin could never have made another choice.

A war dog felt no pain.

“Give me your hand, _kurduh_.” Dwalin asked. He reached for his love's hand, wrapping his fingers around Nori's frozen digits. He could feel a new gush of blood when he let his wound go, but he had no other choice.

Clasped hands, his mother had taught him. This was the only thing he had left to try, and he did not know if it would work. He did not know if the spell would take if he weren't on his knees. When the war dogs were taken by force, the rebels had made both hands bleed. That was not something Fundin had ever taught Dwalin. There was enough of his own blood on his hands already, it would have to be enough.

“I would do anything for you.” Dwalin said, his final words. “I love you.” He squeezed Nori's hand tight as he could. This had to work. He could only hope he would know enough to carry Nori to the second camp to be cared for – that his strength would last that far.

He looked at his beloved, his betrothed, his Nori. Dwalin would save him, the only way he could, or die trying. He could do no less. The sacred ancient words waited on the tip of his tongue. It would not be so different. Already he wanted to protect Nori more than anything else in the world. More than he wanted to live.

Dwalin held Nori’s hand tight, looked at nothing but his beloved’s face. He spoke before he could let the fear overwhelm him.

“ _My life only to preserve yours, my thoughts only to protect you, my weapons only to guard you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music for this chapter is Mordred's Lullaby by Heather Dale:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ny7NZPfl0l4&feature=kp


	8. Chapter 8

When it woke...

...he?

He.

When he woke, the Dwarf he’d found was sitting at his side. The wound on the warrior’s face had closed into a painful red line, and he looked pale and shrunken, but he was alive.

He blinked at the Dwarf. He was warm. He was not sure he remembered ever being so warm, and wrapped in soft blankets and furs.

He watched the warrior, who watched him. He was meant to protect, and the Dwarf was close to him. That was... good. It was _good_. It was good to lay in the warm blankets and look at the Dwarf.

Good was _good_.

He was comfortable. He might have fallen back asleep, but then the silent focused intensity of the way Dwarf was on guard made it through his mind.

“ _Azaghakhakh_...” he murmured. The warrior was a war dog, no one else held themselves that way. But war dogs were not to be protected, they were to protect. If he was not meant to protect what was he meant to do?

“ _Guchir_ ,” the war dog answered.

To _him_. Watching over _him_.

He cringed back in the warm blankets, clinging to them tight with hands that ached when they moved. A war dog only answered to their _Guchir_ and it could not be! He was not a master. A _Guchir_ was perfect and always knew what to do and he did not. He did not know _how_.

“I am your _Guchir_?” he asked. His throat was rough, words uncomfortable to speak.

“Yes,” the war dog answered.

“...what do I do?” he asked, curling up tight in his blankets though his joints all protested the motion. He did not know how to be a _Guchir_. He could remember, now, the warrior speaking words with its hand on his. He could remember when the warrior turned itself into his war dog. Why would the war dog do that? He knew how to protect, he didn’t know how to be a _Guchir_.

The war dog – _his_ war dog – had no answer for him. It only moved closer to recline beside him, placing a big strong arm around him as it kept on watch. He turned into its shoulder, hiding against it, and it pulled him in close.

He did not know what he was meant to do, but he was safe. His war dog would keep him safe.

He held on tight to a fist full of his war dog’s tunic, and he was warm, and he was safe, and he slept.

The second time he woke, it was to the sound of someone entering the tent. He was unarmed and off guard, but he was out of the blankets and behind his war dog for safety before the Dwarf ducked through the door. His heart was pounding, but his war dog was snarling and flexing its big hands to make the chains of its knuckledusters rattle in warning. It was bigger than the Dwarf who’d entered the tent. He leaned hard against his war dog’s broad back, watching.

“Easy... easy Dwalin...” the Dwarf soothed. He had heavily graying hair he’d braided into two curling locks from his chin, and a hearing trumpet. He was carrying two bowls.

“It’s just me, Dwalin, I have food, quit your growling,” the Dwarf continued in that same calming voice.

Dwalin, the Dwarf kept saying at his war dog.

“Is... is that its name?” he asked. War dogs did not have names, but the Dwarf kept saying it. The Dwarf’s eyes were sharp on him as he lowered his hearing trumpet.

“ _His_ name is Dwalin, yes,” he said, tone clipped. “And he gave us quite the fright. He carried you right into the healers tents before he collapsed. It was touch and go for both of you, and with us all swamped... it was not pretty. We didn’t realize he was a war dog until he came back around – stood guard on you ever since. He probably wouldn’t have survived the wound if you hadn’t turned him and given him a war dog’s healing, if you can call _that_ living.”

So many words, _so many_ he couldn’t keep them all straight, but his war dog had a name. War dogs did not have names, but this one did. He did. Dwalin.

He rested his hands on Dwalin’s sturdy shoulders, calming him as he watched the gray haired Dwarf put out the food.

“Do _I_ have a name?” he asked.

A stiffness seemed to leave the other Dwarf’s shoulders as they slumped, eyes softer as they looked past his war dog to where he was hiding.

“Oh, lad,” the Dwarf shook his head, “you’re Nori. Now eat up, and make sure Dwalin does too.”

Nori. He mouthed the sounds of the name. The idea of having a name was strange, but he could try to get used to it.

The gray haired Dwarf was still shaking his head as he left the tent, and he -Nori- crept cautiously out from behind Dwalin to inspect the food. It steamed in the cool air of the tent, scent of smoked meat and barley. He couldn’t remember ever eating barley, but he _knew_ what it was.

And he was hungry. Nori was hungry. He mouthed the sounds of that out, trying the feel of it. He gave Dwalin one of the bowls and took the second for himself. The food was good, warm in his belly. It made him sleepy again.

The blankets were still warm, but he didn’t want to lay back in them. He took a few of the furs and wrapped them around himself and Dwalin. It was good to lay in Dwalin’s lap. It was like curling up together with the other war dogs for warmth and to take turns keeping watch, but warmer and _safe_.

Dwalin’s hand rested on his back, big and warm. He did not last long before he slept again.

 

Nori grew used to thinking of himself by that name. He was told that everyone had a name, even if they didn’t know what all of their names were yet. The Dwarf who brought them food was Oin, a healer and surgeon.

Nori did not do much but eat and sleep for days, and after that it was easiest to stay in the tent or with the others who had been war dogs. There were Dwarves who cried when they looked at Dwalin. There were Dwarves who snarled with their hands on their weapons when they looked at Nori, which made Dwalin pull Nori close and snarl back. Nori thought it was just that they did not like war dogs, but it did not seem like they treated anyone else that way.

He did not like it. He did not like not having his knives. He had always carried knives. As long as he could remember he had carried sharp knives so that he could protect, and now he was surrounded by armed Dwarves and was completely unarmed. It was uncomfortable, even if he was not meant to protect anymore.

It was easiest to stay with the former war dogs. They did not talk too much all at the same time, and they were all unarmed the same way Nori was. Only Dwalin had his weapons. He was the biggest and strongest Dwarf in the camp, and he was Nori’s war dog. Nori was safe, but it was still easiest to stay in the tent or with the other former war dogs.

Nori was wearing the clothes he had been given, wrapped up warm in furs, and staying close to the other former war dogs. He was brushing his hair. A few of the others had begun to try different braids – less efficient, but pretty. Nori had very long hair, and wondered if he could make pretty braids. Pretty braids might be good.

Nori ran the comb through his hair again, thoughtfully. He separated his hair into different parts, but he could not decide what he wanted. He sighed as he quickly brushed it back to put it into his efficient braid.

Dwalin’s hands stopped him. His war dog eased the comb from his hand and began gently dividing Nori’s hair into three parts. It felt good to have his big fingers stroking through Nori’s hair, very good.

“What is he doing?” another former war dog asked curiously, “I never did that.” There were nods and murmurs of agreement. No one had ever braided their _Guchir’s_ hair.

“ _Azaghakhakh_ , what are you doing?” Nori asked.

“Your braids,” Dwalin said simply. Nori closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Dwalin running the comb through his hair. He brushed it up into a tall peak on the top of Nori’s head, and one on each side of his head too, and braided the ends together down the back of his head. Dwalin’s expression was as sharp and wary as always, watching around Nori at everyone, when he moved to the front of Nori to continue braiding. He braided Nori’s eyebrows up into his hair, and then divided his beard into three. The gentle stroke of his fingers through Nori’s beard felt _very_ good, and he sighed as he relaxed into it. Dwalin braided the central part of Nori’s beard into a single long strand, and then the sides into many small long braids, which he gathered and folded together into bundles. Nori had three peaks on his head, and three bundles of braids on his chin. It felt strange, but not _very_ strange. He liked it.

As soon as Dwalin was done, he immediately put himself back at Nori’s back to guard him.

“It’s big!” one of the former war dogs said.

“You look tall!” another agreed.

“You’re pretty,” a third concluded, and there were nods at this. Nori gently touched his new hair, trying to learn how it was done. He liked to be pretty. There were others of the camp, those who hadn’t been war dogs, watching – but there always were. Nori had Dwalin, he was safe. Even if he hadn’t had Dwalin, Nori knew how to fight unarmed as well as armed, even if he would much rather have his knives on him.

He leaned back against his war dog, and Dwalin’s hand rested on his shoulder, big and strong. Nori had all the food he wanted to eat, and warm clothes, and Dwalin to keep him safe, and pretty hair. All of these things were good.

Nori thought maybe this was what people meant when they said they were happy.


	9. Erebor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> return to Erebor

The Dwarves of the camp were excited when they were all leaving Thaforabbad to go to Erebor. To go _home_ they said, with longing. Nori listened as much as he could to the Dwarves who seemed to be in charge. It seemed important to try to understand what was happening. It was not easy. They threw words in big piles on top of each other’s, but Nori thought he was getting better at picking important bits out.

They seemed pleased that they had gathered almost all the former war dogs. They seemed sad about those who had died in the fighting, both war dogs and their own Dwarves. They had hunted through the mountains in groups and did not think there were any rebels left, or at least none with war dogs.

They all seemed excited to be going home. The trip was easy. Everyone was wrapped in warm furs and the walking was easy. Not like the running Nori remembered from before. Everyone helped carry equipment and supplies, so it was not heavy for anyone.

The weather was still cold but grew warmer as they traveled south toward Erebor. In the bustle of a moving camp, Nori was able to arm himself with a small knife he picked up when someone misplaced it. He did not know how he knew how to hide it with his body and sweep it into his palm when no one was looking. Keeping the knife hidden was another thing he did not know how he knew. He had always walked visibly armed as a war dog; but he knew how to hide a knife in his sleeve, how to rig a harness for it to keep it there comfortably, how to draw it with just a turn of his wrist and a flick of his fingers.

Nori only practiced it when there was no one around to see, but it made him feel better to have at least one knife. Even though he had Dwalin to keep him safe, having a knife felt right.

Erebor was an imposing mountain, taller than the gray mountains, but not unfamiliar. The war dogs all watched it grow closer as they walked. There would be good hunting on those slopes, but Nori did not have snares or traps or a bolas to hunt with, and the camp had enough food anyway.

The great gates of Erebor were not unfamiliar either, or the green-stoned halls beyond them. Nori remembered running out of them, but they seemed more familiar than that. They must be another thing he did not know how he knew.

“Come with me,” Oin said, and Nori followed him away while most of the camp were greeting people and the other former war dogs were taken somewhere else. He was led to a room where other Dwarves were waiting. Several of them had pure white hair, and some of them were younger. None of them were visibly armed. They all stared very hard between Nori and Dwalin. Nori shrank against his war dog, and Dwalin put a hand protectively around him.

“As you see...” Oin said to the room, “it’s how I said on the Raven.”

The white haired Dwarf with the prettiest braids put his hand over his mouth, tears in his eyes. The smallest Dwarf, dressed all in soft looking knits with ink stained fingers, pressed up against his side. Several others looked angry.

“Nori...” Oin introduced gently, “These are Dori, Ori, and Balin.” He pointed out the crying one, the small one, and an angry looking white haired one. Nori nodded. He would try to remember these names.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Balin asked him.

“I followed Oin,” Nori answered. There were mumbles through the room.

“That wasn’t what he meant, lad,” Oin said quietly.

“Oh,” Nori thought. “The soldiers said we were Dwarves of Erebor and this is our home?” he tried. There were more mumbles, people glancing at each other. Dori took a handkerchief out of a pocket to wipe at his eyes.

“He doesn’t understand,” Oin said to the room. “He doesn’t even understand that it was wrong when it was done to _him_.”

“Just because he doesn’t understand doesn’t make it right!” Balin snapped. “It’s no excuse.”

“Of course not, but...” Oin started.

“What proof do we have that he...?” Dori tried.

“The proof is standing right there!” An unintroduced red haired Dwarf shouted at Dori, pointing at Nori and Dwalin. Nori flinched away from the anger, and Dwalin pulled him closer, growling loud enough to be heard through the entire room.

Silence fell, but people were still looking angry. Angrier, maybe.

“Everyone, sit. We can discuss this calmly,” Oin said. Chairs were moved around into a circle, and Nori was told to sit in one. Dwalin stood behind him, and Dori sat at his side. There was an empty chair to Nori’s other side.

“Your braids, you did those yourself?” Dori asked, glittering gray eyes bright with tears.

“Dwalin taught me,” Nori answered.

“Do you know why?” Balin asked. His gaze was very direct, very sharp.

“No,” Nori answered, shrinking down in his chair slightly.

“There’s no need to badger him,” Dori said.

“No need to badger him!” the angry red haired Dwarf broke in again, “After all the time Dwalin spent trying to free him, and the first thing he does is... _this_. He was a criminal from the start!”

“A little petty theft as a child hardly makes him a hardened criminal, Gloin.” Dori huffed.

Balin silenced them both with a wave of his hand. “Oin, can you explain exactly _how_ this happened?”

“That isn’t clear,” Oin sighed. “Our rescue attempts were crippled by the cold snap at the worst possible moment. Dwalin fell in the battle, and we could not offer aid for far too long. Either he found Nori, or Nori found him.”

“I found him,” Nori said. There were murmurs again, and angry faces, but Dwalin was solid at his back.

“What else can you tell us?” Balin asked. “Tell us as much as you can about how you found Dwalin. Why.”

“It was cold.” Nori said. He did not know what they wanted to know, but at least they were being quiet and not all piling words on top of each other at the moment. “I found the battlefield, and I found him. He was dying. It was cold.” he shivered at the memory.

“Why?” Balin asked again, “Why did you find _him_.” He looked up at Dwalin, and now _he_ had tears at the corners of his eyes.

“I had to,” Nori said.

“They’re disoriented when they’re freed.” Oin said, “That he was able to recognize Dwalin at all is surprising, but don’t expect a clear answer from him. He didn’t know his own name, or Dwalin’s, and you see he doesn’t recognize anyone. As he said, they were both dying. He was near naked and freezing, Dwalin was bleeding out. They both would have died, if he hadn’t turned Dwalin. As a war dog, Dwalin had the strength to carry him to the camp and to even survive the wound.”

“Better a clean death...” Gloin grumbled into his beard.

“We don’t know how it happened. None of the others did anything like this.” Oin concluded.

“Granted, Dwalin would have died if he hadn’t been turned, but that doesn’t make it right!” Balin said. “That was then. It has served its purpose. I need my brother back now. He would want to be freed, after how long he spent fighting to be sure all the war dogs were freed!”

“Former war dogs don’t tend to speak at all for at least a few days. We did not realize it was even possible until Dwalin regained consciousness obviously turned. And, well, it was too late then,” Oin said. “If we’d realized sooner, things would be different...”

Dori and Ori gasped as though they’d been gravely insulted.

“I am not convinced Nori _did_ turn Dwalin into a war dog.” Dori said, though uncertainly. “I know Dwalin had studied all the historical texts with Ori...”

Argument broke out immediately after that, the words that had been coming in from all directions piling up meaninglessly now, but Nori clung to what Dori had said – the things the others had been saying that he suddenly understood.

“But I didn’t!” Nori said. “I didn’t!” It was a long moment of loudness before Oin managed to get everyone silenced again.

“What was that, lad?” Oin asked.

“I didn’t make Dwalin my war dog.” Nori said. “I don’t know how. He did it.”

This made everyone even louder than they’d been before. People were shouting about lies, and about blasphemy, and slaves, and Dori was saying something about how Dwalin swore to rescue or die trying...

Nori curled away from the cacophony, and Dwalin reached around him to rest his big hand on Nori’s chest, pulling him in close. He growled at those yelling and they silenced again, after too long.

“There’s no knowing how it happened, but if there’s anyone he _would_ have done it for, it’s Nori,” an aged Dam who hadn’t spoken yet said. She held herself like a warrior, even though she had been sitting the entire time and Nori was not sure she could stand. “Damn heartsick fool,” she shook her head at Dwalin.

“Thank you, Fundin.” Dori nodded to her.

“Well, does it matter how it happened?” Balin asked, “Clearly it has to be undone. I cannot leave my brother as a slave.”

“But there is only the one way to undo the magic.” Ori said, “Dwalin and I searched the archives for _years_. If there was ever another way to free a war dog, the memory of it’s been lost to time or Durin’s Bane.”

“Surely there must be some way to separate them, perhaps an extended lack of contact will be enough...” Dori attempted.

“...you want to take Dwalin from me.” Nori finally managed to piece together what they all meant. He could feel his heartbeat pounding under Dwalin’s hand, hammering against the sides of his head. He couldn’t be parted from Dwalin. Dwalin was his war dog. “He’s _mine_ you can’t take him away!”

Dwalin pulled Nori even closer, baring his teeth as he snarled his agreement.

“He is not yours to keep!” Gloin shouted, standing and reaching for an axe he wasn’t carrying. Nori bared his teeth, tensing for battle. Gloin would be no match for him. He twisted his arm to bring his fingers close to his knife, waiting for the attack, as Dwalin growled at his back.

Oin was urging calm, calm, and Dori’s eyes widened as he looked at Nori’s hand. He looked back up at Nori’s face, flicked his eyes deliberately to Nori’s sleeve, and then to the left. That meant no. He knew Nori had a knife. _How_ did he know that Nori had a knife? Nori untwisted his arm, and Dori’s shoulders relaxed.

Oin managed to get Gloin to sit down again.

“Do not make a war dog or former war dog feel threatened! They are deadly, even unarmed!” Oin warned him. “If you can’t control your temper, leave.”

“We obviously can’t leave them like this,” Balin said.

“Obviously,” Oin agreed, “But it’s clear neither of them is going to cooperate with any method of separation.”

Nori nodded, placing both his hands over Dwalin’s on his chest, curling his fingers around the worn metal of his knuckleduster. He leaned back against his solid war dog. They couldn’t take Dwalin from him. Dwarves were making angry faces and murmurs, but Dwalin was _his_. Dori’s eyes were full of tears again, and he dabbed at them with a handkerchief as he watched Nori and Dwalin. Ori’s bottom lip was trembling too.

“Is this normal for war dogs?” the old warrior Dam, Fundin, asked – gesturing at where Nori and Dwalin were holding each other close. “I did not expect them to be affectionate.”

“Not that we observed,” Oin said. “It might be Dwalin’s own inclinations bleeding through, but these two are much more physical than any others we saw.”

“That’s a problem.” Fundin said, folding her arms and giving Balin’s boot a nudge.

“It does bring up the question of how we are to protect Dwalin,” Balin took over. “He will follow any order of Nori’s. If they cannot be separated, how do we make sure Nori is not taking physical advantage when Dwalin cannot choose?”

Dori glanced toward Nori as Balin spoke, cringing slightly and turning away with his hand over his mouth. Others were looking angry or pained too, not looking at Nori.

“None of the recovering war dogs have shown any sexual interest so far.” Oin said, “But it could become a problem eventually.”

Everyone began talking all on top of each other again. It was far more than Nori could follow, but he managed to grab hold of pieces and words here and there.

“You’re talking about touching war dogs?” Nori asked, trying to keep up though his head was hurting from all the voices and it was making him tired. They quieted at his voice, thankfully.

“What can you tell us about that, Nori?” Oin asked gently.

“...I took a Dwarf’s hand off for touching me?” Nori said. He picked up Dori’s hand to demonstrate, running his finger around where a blade would go as he twisted the wrist up and then down. He mimed dropping the hand he would have cut off into the middle of the room; several people gasped. “No one touched me again,” he said.

Fundin was smiling slightly at him, but did not say anything as people murmured to each other. Dori’s eyes were very bright as he looked at Nori, even as he drew his hand back cautiously to himself.

“That may be,” Balin said, “But is it different between war dog and _Guchir_? Nori, would Dwalin let you _touch_ him, as you phrase it?”

“No,” Nori answered. A war dog was always on guard. Touching would be distraction. Why would Nori try to distract Dwalin?

“Can we really trust that?” Gloin asked.

“None of the rescued war dogs have shown any capacity for deceit. I don’t think he knows _how_ to lie.” Oin said. “Which would argue for his story of Dwalin turning himself – or at least that he _believes_ it to be true.”

Dori glanced toward Nori’s sleeve, toward his knife, and his expression did not really change. He gave nothing away, so how did Nori know that the set of his lips and eyes meant he was in distress? Why did Nori feel that he was probably at fault and supposed to make it better?

“Well, it’ll be easy enough to prove.” Fundin said. “Nori, try to touch Dwalin so we can see for ourselves.”

“Do we really have to do that?” Ori asked, sinking down in his soft looking knitted scarf and glancing toward Dori with color in his cheeks.

“I...” Dori started, a little shakily. He visibly settled himself, folded his hands primly folded in his lap. “I think I would like to see for myself as well, to know that he couldn’t have been... Go on, Nori.”

“ _Azaghakhakh_ , stand here.” Nori said, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. Dwalin moved it and took its place, eyes roving constantly across everyone in the group. On guard. Protecting Nori. The scar across his face had healed well, a line leading across his eyebrow to his flattened nose, and his bald head had sprouted a thick shadow of dark hair. He was a strong, fierce warrior - Nori’s war dog.

Everyone was watching them as Nori reached up to stroke Dwalin’s chest, petting his muscles through his furs. Dwalin twitched away, shrugging Nori’s hand off and knocking it away with his arm.

Nori looked around, but it did not seem that they were satisfied. They were still watching expectantly. Nori tried again. This time he stayed with Dwalin when he tried to twitch away, stroking his hand down his war dog’s stomach.

Dwalin growled and grabbed Nori’s hand before it reached his belt buckle. He shoved it back into Nori’s chest with a snarl directed right at him. Nori snarled back on instinct, ready to fight. He was starting lower, but that just meant he could unbalance the larger war dog and...

Dwalin let his hand go and went back to watching the room.

“Well. Now we know,” Fundin said with a nod, and Dori burst into tears.

“All these years, I thought... Thank the small mercies...” Dori gasped into his handkerchief, while Ori hugged him tight.

“That _is_ a relief.” Oin said, “You will not be the only family glad to hear it.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that we can’t leave them like this.” Gloin said, and arguments began to sprout up again.

Nori did not understand most of it. There were too many voices. They were angry and wanted to take Dwalin away from him, but they couldn’t. Dwalin was his. Nori was trying. He was trying so hard but he did not know how to be a _Guchir_. Everything was so hard and too loud. Too loud and too much and Oin wasn’t stopping the arguments this time.

Nori’s hands slipped upward to cover his ears, block it out even as he kept watch to be sure they weren’t attacking him. Dwalin stepped behind him again, a big hand resting on Nori’s shoulder to pull him close. He could feel the rumbled beginning of Dwalin’s warning growl. Dwalin would keep him safe.

“Please, please...” Dori managed to break through the noise, motioning everyone to quiet. “Is there a reason Nori has to be here for this?” Nori could hear his own short whimpered breaths and Dwalin’s low growl clearly in the silence that followed.

“No, of course not.” Oin said, gesturing to one of the soldiers from the camp who had come with them. “Take Nori to the others?” he said.

Nori was more than willing to follow, to get out of the noise and be back with the former war dogs who did not talk so much.

“So, we are agreed on the official story that Dwalin turned himself to save them both? He is something of a hero, it would be chaos if...” Balin was saying as Nori left, and he was glad when the door was closed behind them and he couldn’t hear more that he was supposed to understand and did not. He leaned hard against Dwalin’s hand.

“Come with me, we’ve got you set up in the old barracks,” the soldier said, and Nori followed hir.

The war dogs were housed in a large open building, with private bunks carved into the stone of the walls and places for rest and exercise. There were many former war dogs there, and they looked happy. Nori and Dwalin were given blankets and sent toward bunks that were theirs now. It looked far more comfortable than anything Nori remembered. He spread his blanket in his bunk, and turned to look at Dwalin. Already he was feeling better, without so many voices and words at him, though he was tired.

“We live here now,” Nori told Dwalin. Dwalin looked back and forth across the building, watching everyone to keep Nori safe, then put his blankets down and took Nori’s hand in his big calloused grip.

Nori followed as Dwalin walked them toward the doors they’d come in. Dwarves tried to get in their way, to stop them, but Dwalin bared his teeth and grabbed the handle of an axe with his free hand and they drew back.

“What is he doing? Where is he taking you?” the soldier who’d brought Nori asked.

“I don’t know,” Nori answered. “Dwalin, _azaghakhakh_ , where are you taking me?”

“Home,” Dwalin said.

Home was a small building carved into the stone. Dwalin fished a key out of his clothes and unlocked the door to let them in. He closed it in the faces of the soldiers who’d followed them, relocking it from the inside. He handed the key to Nori.

There were small lamps, and Dwalin lit them. He opened up flues that connected the house to the mountain’s ventilation system, and opened shutters that let in the light of the skylights. It was a _nice_ little house, clean and simple but far nicer than anything that had been made in the Thaforabbad camp.

The bedroom was small, but the bed was big and looked comfortable, all covered in blankets and furs. There was a thick warg-skin rug on the floor at the foot of the bed, before a small fireplace, which Dwalin placed a scoop of coal in and lit for warmth.

Dwalin sat Nori on the end of the bed and went to a drawer. He took a box out, and brought it to Nori. Inside was a pretty jeweled comb, gold hair clasps set with amethyst, and knives. Dwalin took each item out of the box and handed it to Nori, one after the other.

The knives were beautiful, and functional, and it felt _right_ to wear them – to finally be fully armed again.

“Why are you giving me these?” Nori asked, stroking his knives and the hair clasps. They were pretty, and Nori wanted them, but he did not know why Dwalin would give them to him. He had never given anything to his _Guchir_ that was not food and protection.

“These are yours,” Dwalin answered.

Nori rubbed his face. He was tired, so tired from everything, and Dwalin gestured him toward the bed.

He _should_ sleep. Nori put the comb and hair clasps aside and crawled up the bed. It was very soft, and he sank in as he pulled a blanket over himself. Dwalin turned the lamps out and nearly closed the shutters, so the only light was the dim glow of the coal in the grate. Dwalin settled himself on the warg skin rug to keep watch.

Nori was comfortable, and warm. He was finally armed with his knives, and Dwalin would keep him safe – but he could not sleep.

Dwalin was sitting on the rug keeping watch, and that was familiar. Nori had always sat at watch, curled up with the other war dogs for warmth. He did not need the warmth now, but it was... nice. It had been nice to be curled up with a war dog while they traveled to Erebor.

Nori took his blanket with him when he climbed off the bed to join Dwalin on the rug. It was much less soft, much more familiar, but still softer than anything he was used to sleeping on.

Dwalin wrapped an arm around him, and Nori nestled in close to his war dog as he tucked the blanket around them. It took a little settling so none of their weapons were in the way, but they were soon comfortable. Dwalin’s arm was strong around Nori, his breathing and heartbeat were steady against his ear, and it was right. It felt _right_.

Nori closed his eyes, and slept.


	10. Crafts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Acclimatizing to Erebor

Nori and the rest of the former war dogs’ days were busy. He spent his nights in the house Dwalin had brought him to, but Oin and Dori had come to explain to him that he had to spend his days with the other recovering war dogs. Dwarves came and taught them things they needed to know to be Dwarves of Erebor – and tried to help them remember things they had forgotten.

Crafters from different guilds would come in to demonstrate their crafts and let them all try their hands at them. A lot of the former war dogs remembered things that way. Two of them got in an argument with the stonecarver about proper technique and _won_ , laughing as they did for the joy of knowing a craft.

The threads and fabrics of the weaver’s guild were familiar to Nori, but he did not have the patience for it. He remembered it though. He remembered sitting in the weaver’s guild hall, crawling under a beautiful Dam’s loom to fetch a fallen spool and being kissed on the cheek for it. It was a memory full of love, and he wanted to know more about her but he didn’t.

He only remembered little pieces of things, like shards of broken pottery.

Sometimes Ori would come recite history for them and let them write with ink and quill. The stories were familiar, as though Nori knew what words were coming next even if he couldn’t usually say what they were. Nori’s writing was shaky at best, but he listened to the history recitations and remembered sitting in a drafty hall trying not to get caught flicking little bits of things into another Dwarf’s braids while an old Dwarf droned on and on.

A pretty Dam named Mirra taught smithing, and while Nori enjoyed the heat and the scent and watching things being crafted he did not have any desire to work a forge himself. Her softspoken husband, a big round Dwarf with a wonderful beard, Bombur, came to teach them about cooking sometimes. That was always fun. Nori was not the best of cooks, but his hands remembered chopping and mixing, and he did know tasting and seasoning. Usually Nori ate with the other war dogs, but he wondered if he could sometimes cook things at home.

He knew he would have to buy things for that, though. It was one of the things he didn’t know how he knew – a memory there when he needed it. Nori would have to go to the market and buy food, and he was not certain he had any money. He remembered taking things without paying, knew how to do it, but he also remembered that it was wrong and could get him in trouble – and he knew he was too visible with Dwalin always sticking close to him.

A few times a week there were group meetings with one of Oin’s friends, pretty Svidr with gold threaded braids, who taught them about saying ‘no’. Svidr talked about a lot of other things too, encouraged them to talk with and help each other, but always there was time put aside to practice saying ‘no’. They would role-play out different scenarios, with Svidr coaxing them through more and less polite ways of saying no.

“Remember, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Svidr would remind them.

Oin and the other Dwarves who were taking care of the former war dogs seemed to be happy about everyone’s progress. They seemed to think they were recovering quickly and well, though it did not feel that way to Nori.

“I expected them to care more about their dead masters,” Nori overheard Oin telling someone. “In all the old stories, war dogs were absolutely devastated and had a hard time of it if they survived – but we haven’t seen a single one care. Years they spent protecting them, and the moment the magic ended...”

“That might be the one blessing of having been taken against their will. They do not mourn them afterward.”

Most of the Dwarves who came to teach the former war dogs things seemed to have family members among them. Some of the war dogs remembered them – Sidgra was Mirra’s brother, and liked to sit with her and Bombur to talk. He went home with them to visit sometimes, and other Dwarves had other family members and did the same.

Nori wondered if some of them were his family. If they were his family he should remember them, but no matter how hard he stared at any of them he did not know them and he did not know if he should. He did not know if he wanted to have a family or not. If he had a family he would know them, wouldn’t he? Was it bad that he did not?

But what if he did not have a family at all? Nori’s thoughts shied away from blank places he was starting to realize he had. Places where a name or a face should be. For as many times as there was knowledge in his mind when he reached for it, there were more when he knew enough to reach and there was _nothing_. Things he did not know how he knew and reached for the memory of learning it and it was not there. It had not bothered him as a war dog. He’d had a purpose then. It had been easy, and now nothing was.

It did help to talk to the other war dogs. It helped to only focus on things he _did_ know. The Dwarves who seemed to be in charge of the former war dogs left them plenty of space to figure things out and talk on their own, and it helped. Nori would sit in the barracks in the evening, in small groups, and they would all talk about things they were remembering. They would talk about what they did not remember too, sometimes, even if it was scary. It helped to be able to know the edges of what was not there.

Most night Nori would leave and go with Dwalin to the house Dwalin said was home, but some nights Nori had to come back to the barracks and some nights they never left at all. Sometimes it was not enough to sleep curled up with Dwalin and Nori needed the company of others who understood. Who had the same nightmares of being tied with strings like a puppet, or eaten by a vicious beast and seeing out of its eyes as it did terrible things, or simply of doing normal things but having no control of their body as they did them.

The worst ones, almost everyone agreed, were the ones where they saw their _Guchir_ ’s face or heard their voice.

Nori was not the only one with the nightmares. Talking about them with the other former war dogs helped. Sleeping curled up with Dwalin on the rug at home helped too, but sometimes it was better to sleep with him in the barracks in reach of someone else who would understand. Most people seemed to sleep in their bunks most nights, but there were always a few sleeping in the common areas to give each other comfort, and it helped.

Svidr sometimes had the former war dogs try to picture their _Guchir’s_ face when they said no, and that was always the hardest. It was almost impossible to picture their face and their voice giving an order and to say ‘no’. Nori cried the first time he managed it.

It was hard to do, but practicing it did help with the nightmares. It was better to wake up shouting ‘no’ early in a dream than to wake up screaming or crying later. Nori was not the only one who did it. There wasn’t a night he spent in the barracks he didn’t hear it happen.

Talking about being war dogs with the others helped. It was easy to talk with former war dogs, they spoke quietly one at a time. They decided that this was probably better even if it was hard. They were not cold, and they had food. The more any person remembered, the more they seemed to think not being a war dog was best.

This all worried Nori. He knew people did not like that Dwalin had made himself his war dog, that they wanted to free him. It seemed to be better not to be a war dog than to be one, and he didn’t want to hurt Dwalin or give him the same nightmares Nori did, but there was only one way to free a war dog and Nori did not want to die. They thought Nori didn’t know what they meant when they talked about freeing Dwalin, but he did. He was always getting better at understanding what people were saying and when they were talking about him.

The former war dogs had all been told of the _karak_ , the breaking of Erebor. They were told the story of the cowardly rebels and how they had stolen people and turned them into war dogs. They were told about how their families and Dwalin had fought to get them rescued. Nori knew that some people thought he’d done like a rebel and turned Dwalin against his will, even though he told them he hadn’t. It was explained to the war dogs that doing anything to someone against their will was wrong, and Nori knew that even if he hadn’t known the words they used to explain it. People thought he’d done that to Dwalin, and Nori hadn’t.

Nori didn’t want to hurt Dwalin and he knew he shouldn’t want to keep him as his war dog, but there were people who wanted to kill him and he wanted Dwalin close. It felt right to have Dwalin always at his side, it felt safe, even if having Dwalin was the reason people wanted to kill him.

What could Nori do other than take note and try to avoid them? He had not turned Dwalin, and he did not want to die to free him.

Nori could only try to to learn how to be a Dwarf of Erebor again, like all the other former war dogs. He tried all the different crafts that guild members came to show them, and while he was not the worst at most of them, he was not very good at any of them. He was not remembering a craft the way most of the former war dogs were. Some of them were good enough they could even work at their guilds.

It wasn’t until Bifur and Bofur, a woodcarver and a toymaker, came to teach them things that Nori started to remember. He was not awful at the woodcarving, and he was good at the fine detail of the toymaking, but he did not remember any of that. When the cousins were leaving Bofur drew Nori aside with a flick of his eyes that meant secrets.

“Here,” he said, brown eyes sparkling as he handed over a small bundle that the careful set of his body to conceal had Nori instinctively answering with the same. “This might help jog your memory a bit... just be careful who you tell about it!” Bofur said, while Nori hid the bundle in the folds of his jacket.

Nori didn’t examine the bundle until that night, at home. It was a small satchel of thin but sturdy cloth, folded up small. Inside it were a few coils of thin wire, pins and twists of metal and bits of leather. Nori spread them all out on the kitchen table. The wire he obviously knew how to make snares out of. He had done as much as a war dog. The pins and twists of metal he turned in his fingers until they sprang suddenly into focus – trap pieces. He knew how to use thin sapling twigs with them to make traps for catching animals. The leather, too, for different kinds of traps.

With these tools and a few good knives, and Nori had plenty of knives, he could make a pretty pile of gold hunting and selling game. He knew Erebor’s slopes, knew hidden passages to reach them and a territory rich with game. He knew every pathway of it, every rabbit trail – or _had_ known. Game trails changed and someone else would have taken the territory over now. Competition was always fierce between poachers...

“I was a poacher!” Nori gasped the realization out loud, fingers expertly twisting the wire into a snare. Someone who hunted on land someone else held the hunting rights to. Someone who sold game to people who couldn’t have afforded meat otherwise. Good money and good work, so long as the guard never caught wind.

So that was what Bofur had meant. It was important for Nori not to tell anyone who might get him in trouble for what he used to do. It was a secret.

“I was a poacher.” Nori told Dwalin, whispered low and quiet, and smiled. He _liked_ secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Svidr looks something like:  
> http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/98678363308/ikeslimster-photography-by-ike-slimster


	11. statue and song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori remembers things.  
> and there are smuts.

Sometimes groups of former war dogs were taken to different parts of Erebor, to see and hear about them, and sometimes some of them would remember things.

There was a statue, just one of the statues of Kings carved of Erebor’s good green stone, but this one Nori knew. Except that he did not. Nori did not call any attention to it when he walked past with the group, but he came back later to look at it.

It was a very normal statue. There were ones like it through Erebor, but this one he did not remember and _knew_ he did not remember. The empty space it should be was like a sore tooth he couldn’t stop poking with his tongue. It was easiest to leave most of the empty spots alone, to stick to things he knew instead of stepping off a cliff when he did not know how far away the bottom was. This one did not feel like that. It felt small.

It might be deep, for all that, but it irked at him that he did not know the statue. He did not know why it was important.

Nori leaned against Dwalin and stared at the statue, waiting for his mind to remember. He stood there long enough his feet grew sore in his boots, and his mind couldn’t tell him any more about the statue than he’d known before. Which was nothing.

“Do you need some help, love?” a Dam asked, hitching her child up on her hip. “You’re one of the taken Dwarves, aren’t you?”

“No, thank you,” Nori shook his head. “I just don’t know anything about this statue, except that I know I should.”

The Dam glanced over at it, shaking her head with a slight chuckle. Her cheeks were a little pink when she looked back.

“Well, sometimes it helps to look at a problem from another direction.” she suggested. She nodded to Nori and Dwalin both, but the hand out of her child’s view signaled toward the statue and then ‘around behind’ before she continued on her way.

It was the only clue Nori had, so as soon as she was gone he began trying to find a path that would lead him behind the statue. It did not take him long. As soon as he was near the right place, he knew the paths he needed to take. Within minutes he was climbing through the rough-carved stone behind the statue, in the hidden space behind.

There was a pathway up, he knew it. Nori began climbing quickly, there would be a crack he could squeeze through and then...

Dwalin’s hands closed on his hips, plucking him down from the rocks before he was out of reach. That was right, Dwalin was with him and there was no way the warrior would have fit.

Nori sighed as he was placed back on his feet, leaning back into Dwalin who was still holding his hips. Looking at the crack, he was suddenly not sure he’d have fit either. He might have been younger when he was remembering fitting through into the space behind.

There was plenty to look at and remember where he was already, though. There were layers of scratched and painted writings ‘heaven lies between Gered’s thighs’ had several agreements after it, and a disagreement that it was instead under Skir’s tongue. There were poems written to lovers’ eyes and other parts of their bodies too.

“I would come here,” Nori told Dwalin. It was sometimes easier to remember when he said it out loud, and his war dog was good at listening. “I kissed... maybe it was my first kiss?” He had been nervous enough for it. They’d climbed up into the rocks with a little bag of sweets -stolen- and a borrowed blanket. Nori couldn’t remember the other Dwarf, their face, but he could remember the feel of soft lips pressing against his own, trembling hands cupping his face and fingertips scratching through his beard. The awkwardness of trying to figure out how tongues went.

It was a good memory, another bright shard of broken pottery to try to piece into the shape of his life Nori was trying to make.

 

Nori had a song stuck in his head.

It would not bother him, but it was not a song he _knew_. It was just a few notes, and he could not remember the rest of it. It was none of the songs that were sung in the evening at the barracks, songs of Erebor that everyone knew or remembered. It was none of the songs played when there were celebrations and almost everyone’s family came and danced. Nori enjoyed those. Dancing was something he knew, something he was good at, even if it was difficult to dance with Dwalin guarding him.

This song was not those. The pretty string of notes mocked Nori, running through and through his mind and he _did not know_ what they were.

Nori whistled them a few times, but not even hearing them aloud helped. He slumped across the kitchen table.

“What is this song?” he groaned. He did not expect Dwalin to answer. Nori startled when his war dog’s big hand closed on his wrist, but he followed where Dwalin led. He was taken to the bedroom and pushed to sit on the end of the bed while Dwalin got something out of the closet. Dwalin was tall, but even he had to stand on tiptoe and reach at an odd angle for whatever he was searching for.

A dusty case, it turned out. Dwalin wiped the dust off of it, and opened it to reveal a viol. It was out of tune, even Nori could tell that much, but Dwalin carefully tended to it and had it singing sweetly beneath the red-strung bow in only a few moments.

The notes of the song Nori could not quite remember trembled across the room, and it was a beautiful song. It was not made for dancing to, it was the kind of music for just _listening_. It was sweet and it ached and Nori did not know why.

“Play it again?” he asked Dwalin, when the last note faded to silence, and his war dog did as he asked.

 

Nori was whistling the song to himself the next day at the barracks when Balin came by. Nori tended to avoid him because he was one of those who wanted to kill him. Nori did not doubt he was more than a match for the white-haired diplomat, even without Dwalin behind him, but he did not want it to come to a fight. He’d also pieced together that Balin was Dwalin’s brother, and the thought of Dwalin fighting his family as a war dog was too awful. Family was important, Nori knew that.

Balin did not try to avoid Nori, though. He was involved with seeing to the care of the former war dogs, and tried to talk to Nori regularly. Balin stopped when he heard Nori whistling, breathing in sharply.

“You’ve remembered the song?” he asked.

“Dwalin played it for me. Last night,” Nori answered. He hadn’t remembered it, not really. “I don’t know the words.”

“It never had words,” Balin answered. “Dwalin _played_ it for you?” Nori could not read the complexities of his expression as he looked up at Dwalin.

“There was a viol hidden high in the closet.” Nori answered. There must be a way he could get away from Balin, some activity beginning he could excuse himself to join...

“Do you know why?” Balin asked. Always that question. Why Dwalin had taken Nori away to a house instead of staying at the barracks, why Dwalin braided Nori’s hair, why Dwalin slept with his body curled tight around Nori’s to shelter him from all harm. Why Dwalin played a song for him.

Nori shook his head, and Balin sighed and thankfully left him alone to go talk with Oin and Svidr.

Nori did not whistle the song again, even though it was in his mind. He was all full of holes, blank spaces, and whenever he found one piece there were more gone. Like his memories were dust motes in a ray of sunlight and he’d never catch them.

And Balin had to point that out.

Nori hid his face in his hands. He was _trying_ but it was all so hard. Dwalin’s protective hand on his back was a comfort, but it was all so impossible.

“Nori?” he looked up at Svidr’s quiet word. “Some of us are going to practice asking permission. Would you and Dwalin like to join us? We have biscuits from Bombur.” Svidr’s deep brown eyes were always gentle, the counselor always _asked_ and never _told_ , and never pushed for anyone to remember things they didn’t.

“Yes.” Nori said. Bombur’s biscuits would be worth it, if nothing else, and it would be a distraction. Things Svidr taught did often help, even if they were sometimes hard.

“Good,” Svidr smiled, extending a hand. “Can I offer you a hand up?” Nori was more than capable of standing on his own, he was likely much stronger than Svidr for having been a war dog, but he took the offered hand anyway.

Sometimes touch was about offering inclusion and acceptance.

 

Other times it was not.

Once a month the former war dogs came to one of Erebor’s steam baths. There were baths in the barracks, and there was a small bath in the house Nori lived in, but the steam baths were something special. Once a month one of the bathhouses set aside a few hours just for the former war dogs, where they did not have to worry about anyone else being there.

Nori enjoyed it, even if both he and Dwalin had to leave their weapons outside and enter naked. The water was hot, flowing through the pools, and it was good to lay in it. It was comfortable and relaxing, and afterward Nori could comb scented oil through his hair and beard until they were smooth and gleaming.

The company was good too. Play was something they were all remembering or relearning, and sometimes there were laughing splash wars. Nori had chosen a quiet pool and leaned his shoulder against Dwalin’s to relax.

A few people were talking, but Nori was content in silence, just listening and relaxing. Blond-bearded Vild was watching Dellin, sitting close to him in the water.

“You’re beautiful,” she told him. “Can I touch you?”

Dellin thought for a moment before he nodded. This was new, and Nori was not the only one watching curiously as Vild petted the thick curls across his chest, stroked his shoulders and arms. Dellin looked at nothing but her face, breathing quicker now and his face flushed warmer than the warm water would account for.

“Can I touch you too?” he asked, and Vild nodded quickly. He cupped the side of her face, stroked his thumb across her scarred lip, petted the unraveling braids of her beard and her neck beneath them before moving to straddle her lap to touch her shoulders and then lower to squeeze the softness of her breasts.

“...kiss you?” Dellin whispered, leaning closer, and Vild reached up to cup the back of his head as she brought their mouths together. Nori bit his lips at the memory of kissing, seeing the way both Vild and Dellin’s hands clenched on each other, pulling closer. It would be soft lips and gentle tongues and muscles beneath hands...

“Dellin, can I touch you too?” Sidgra asked, moving closer with his eyes bright.

“Yes,” Dellin answered as Vild nodded. Sidgra settled in behind Dellin, stroking his hands down his sides as he kissed the back of Dellin’s neck. Dellin was shuddering now between both their touches. He pushed back against Sidgra, who pushed forward against him and pressed him against Vild, who kissed him.

Nori’s skin was too tight. He could feel his heart in his throat and heat pooling in his groin. He wanted... he wanted to be touched. He wanted to be kissed. He wanted to be where Dellin was.

“I want,” Nori whispered, and Dwalin’s arm wrapped around him. His war dog pulled him in close and tight but it wasn’t the same.

“Kissing and touching isn’t for public baths.” Sidgra said, sitting back from Dellin sharply, as if he had just remembered. That did sound right. It was for privacy, why else had Nori gone to places like the space behind the statue for it?

Vild lifted Dellin from her lap and stood, water falling in glittering drops from her muscles, clinging to the soft curves of her breasts in a way Nori had not noticed before.

“Will you come with me to a private bath?” Vild asked, holding out her hands to both Sidgra and Dellin. They both took her hands. Their cocks were flushed dark, hard and stiff and beautiful in front of them as they followed her away.

Nori was hard too, under the water. His cock throbbed and his nipples were aching hard beneath his hair. He wanted to touch himself, but that was not for public pools any more than kissing was.

But he _wanted_.

Nori could not though. Not until that night, after the whole day was over. Nori’s skin had felt too tight and too warm the entire time. His clothes aggravated him and he took them all off. He had Dwalin to keep him safe, even if he was unarmed for a moment. Nori’s skin felt good to touch across his chest and belly, his thighs, and finally his cock. He sucked in a breath as he stroked his palm across that. How had he not remembered before that it felt so good? It was not a thing a war dog did, it would have been a waste of energy and a distraction, but it felt so good.

It felt good, but he would rather someone elses hands on him. He wanted...

“I had a lover.” Nori told Dwalin, remembering. That was what he wanted. He wanted a lover. He settled into Dwalin’s arms, on the warg skin rug, because that was where he slept and having a wank was something that happened in bed.

“I had a lover.” Nori repeated, taking his cock in his hand as he tried to remember more. The tight pressure of his grip was good, and he thrust up into it. It was a distraction, and maybe that made it easier to remember. He could not focus entirely on it. “My lover had a wonderful beard.” Nori could remember running his fingers through it, thick coarse strands. Nori had braided it sometimes, he knew that much, but he’d loved the feel of it unbound scratching against his skin. Nori drew his foreskin back all the way, shuddering as he ran his fingertips around and around the tender crown of his cock. His other hand came up to his nipples, rolling one and then the other between his fingers. His body was wonderful, a good body that gave him pleasure, and he wanted more.

“My lover had a crest of hair.” Nori remembered. It had been tall and proud, and he could remember weaving his fingers through it while they kissed.

Kissing.

Oh, he remembered kissing. Not awkward fumbles, he remembered being kissed like he was air, being kissed until his lips were bruised and he couldn’t breathe for moaning. He remembered his lover’s lips, soft and gentle mouthing against his skin. Kisses all over his body and hot lips closing around his cock.

Nori cried out, hand clenching down hard on his cock as he spilled. He bucked and trembled his way through his climax with his face buried against Dwalin’s shoulder.

His entire body was warm and lax in the wake of his climax. He ought to care about being on guard, but he had Dwalin for that and he was safe here. He could be vulnerable here for just a moment.

“I had a lover,” he whispered again, wiping his hand on the outside of the blanket to clean it up. It was a _good_ thing to remember.


	12. brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori remembers some more

Nori always liked when Dori came to teach the former war dogs. He was a tinker, and he always had different things to teach them how to repair. It was satisfying to take things that were broken and fix them. It was always something different, and Nori wasn’t bad at most of it. Today Dori had brought broken pottery and those who wanted to were learning to piece them back together with gold-dust-tinted lacquer. Nori was good with small details, and he had steady hands. Dori had trusted him with one of the more delicate cups, and Nori smiled victoriously as he settled the last piece in place. He carefully pressed loose gold dust over the wet lacquer and brushed the excess back into the the dish, careful not to waste a grain of it.

The cup was pretty now, with veins of gold through it like Erebor’s good green stone. The cup would never be unbroken, but it was strong and useful again now. It had been difficult to get the pieces to set just right so there were no uneven edges, but Nori had managed it.

The trick of it was something he knew.

Dori saw he was done and nodded to him. Nori was one of the last done, since he’d had one of the more complicated pieces.

“Masterfully done,” Dori complemented, inspecting the cup but not touching the still-setting lacquer. “That’s professional quality work.” Nori smiled at the compliment, and Dori smiled back with a kind of sadness in the corners of his eyes. Nori wanted to watch him, understand _why_ he could read so many of the subtlest expressions on _this_ Dwarf’s face.

He _would_ have, but someone else asked for help and Dori went to them. Nori reached out as if to stop Dori, and Dori hesitated as though he _wanted_ to stay with Nori too before he gave a tiny apologetic smile and went.

Nori was done with his cup. He could have gone, but he waited. He watched Dori. Dori was what he was now realizing was a classic beauty. He was broad and sturdy and round, with pure mithril braids in complex chains decorating his head. He was... familiar. Nori could read him, his impatience with someone’s lack of care even while he remained perfectly polite on the outside.

 _How_ did Nori know him?

When everyone else was gone, Nori perched on the edge of the table and watched Dori packing his tools away. The handsome Dwarf glanced toward Nori – and Dwalin, standing silent guard behind him as always – a few times, and then away.

“You could work with me at my shop, you know,” Dori said, finally, putting every tool precisely in its place in his kit. “You’re good enough with enough of the repairs...” he closed his mouth firmly, lips pressed tight together. He’d said something he hadn’t meant to.

“You had gray hair,” Nori said. He could remember that suddenly, very clearly. Gray hair and that exact expression, but it had changed now – open hope as Dori looked up at him. Nori closed his eyes and tried to remember. Gray braids.

Dori with gray braids and poaching? Sometimes thinking of that helped Nori remember things.

Yes.

“I gave you a rabbit,” Nori opened his eyes, grinning at Dori, whose bottom lip was trembling. “I brought you a rabbit and you were complaining about my poaching. You said you’d call the guard on me, but you took it anyway and your eyes were smiling and...” Nori could remember it so clearly. A tiny shard of a memory, but so bright. He touched his forehead, “You kissed me here.”

“Oh Nori...” Dori breathed. “They said you weren’t remembering anything.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell _them_ I was a poacher,” Nori pointed out the obvious. “You already know.”

“Oh Nori,” Dori huffed, rolling his eyes, but he was pleased. He was pleased even with tears in his eyes. “You’d given poaching up before the... well. Before. You promised me.”

“What were we?” Nori asked, climbing down from the table. “Dori, what were we?” He _knew_ Dori, he just didn’t know how.

“I’m not supposed to push you...” Dori tried, gray eyes overflowing with tears. Nori knew that look, knew sitting by a worn old rocking chair by the fire while Dori wore that exact expression...

“But I’m asking,” Nori pointed out, taking Dori’s strong hand in both of his, “Please?” Dori’s hand wrapped around his fingers, strong and secure.

“Brothers,” Dori’s voice trembled, “We’re brothers.”

Brothers. Family.

Nori had a family.

Nori’s attempt to say something didn’t work, his throat only gave a choked sob, shoulders shaking and his eyes flooding with tears of his own. Dori didn’t seem to be able to say anything himself. He just grabbed Nori, pulling him in to hug him close and warm. Nori buried his face against Dori’s neck, and he remembered this. He remembered the scent of lavender hair oil and tea and metal that clung to Dori. To his _brother_. He remembered these arms around him making everything better no matter how bad things got, no matter how angry with Nori Dori was.

“ _Nadadith_...” Dori crooned, rocking him back and forth. “ _Nadadith_.”

“You were always there for me. Always,” Nori whimpered, remembering. “I have a family, I was so scared I didn’t. I have brothers.”

Brother _s_

“There was a little one,” Nori remembered, pushing back a little and looking around as if he would suddenly appear. “There was a little one, where...”

“Ori,” Dori said, dabbing at his eyes with a sleeve and giving Nori the happiest watery smile he’d ever seen. “He tells stories and teaches writing...”

“No,” Nori pushed back all the way, shaking his head as he stepped back into Dwalin who wrapped his arms around him close and safe. It couldn’t be. “No,” Nori repeated. Family was important. Family was supposed to take care of you. It couldn’t be Ori.

“I know he’s all grown up now, but he’s still our same little Ori,” Dori said.

“Not Ori.” Nori answered, and his eyes were full of tears still but they weren’t happy anymore. It couldn’t be Ori. If Ori was his family and he couldn’t trust Ori, then could he trust Dori either?

“What on earth is wrong with Ori?” Dori was distressed now, the little line between his brows and the tightness of his eyes giving it away, “Why not Ori? He’s a good lad and a credit to our house.”

“Ori wants to kill me,” Nori had overheard him talking about it more than once with Balin.

“He does not!” Dori protested.

“There’s only one way to free a war dog.” Nori answered, turning his face into Dwalin’s sleeve to wipe his eyes, holding his war dog close and being held. He didn’t want to die and his own _brother_ thought he should...

“Oh, Nori, no...” Dori soothed, he reached for Nori, but drew back when Dwalin growled. He wrung his hands. “Ori’s been working himself to the bone all these months searching for _any_ way to free Dwalin without hurting you. Dwalin was his friend, but you’re his _brother_. He would never hurt you.”

Nori sniffled slightly, watching Dori, but Dori did not _look_ like he was lying.

“Really?” he asked.

“We should have explained it to you more carefully, _nadad_. Ori _loves_ you. You could... will you come for dinner so he can explain what he’s been researching?” Dori asked.

Nori petted Dwalin’s arm, his knuckledusters and his scars until his war dog twitched his arm to dislodge his hand from touching. Even _if_ Ori wanted to kill Nori, he was more than a match for the little scholar even without Dwalin to guard him.

“Yes,” Nori said.

He _wanted_ his family. He had to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nowitsaparty also made an inktober sketch of War Dog!Dwalin:  
> http://nowitsaparty.tumblr.com/post/99449813193/inktober-day-3-is-was-war-dog-dwalin-day
> 
> and for those interested, Sparkle has made some fanart for this AU, which can be found at:  
> http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/tagged/war+dogs+fanart


	13. spar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori spars and does some remembering  
> also: smut.

Nori was busy, and even if there were still big holes of things he did not remember, his life was good. He worked in Dori’s shop repairing things, and earned money so he could buy things. He often had dinner with Dori and Ori, helping cook and all getting in each other’s ways. They could laugh together. Ori and Dori had jokes that Nori didn’t know, funny stories he might once have known, but they could build new ones together. They were his family, even if things were never going to be the way they’d once been. It was still good to have them.

It was a relief to know that most people who wanted to free Dwalin did not want to kill Nori. Ori was researching to try to find a way to free Dwalin that didn’t involve hurting Nori. Dwalin was always near Nori, always standing at his back. It was easy, sometimes, to forget he was there. He just _was_ , a solid wall protecting Nori and the occasional big hand on his shoulder or pulling him close to protect.

“It’s hard to see him like this,” Ori confessed, looking past Nori to Dwalin. “He researched with me for _years_ trying to find a way to save you. And now it’s just me, Balin’s too busy most of the time to help.”

There was nothing Nori could say to make it better. He’d already told them it wasn’t _him_ who turned Dwalin. Despite the official story that was _true_ that Dwalin had turned himself, not everyone believed it. No one would say it to Nori’s face, but they thought it.

All he could do was support Ori’s research and hope they could free Dwalin, because it _was_ better to be a Dwarf than a war dog. It was better to have thought and choice, even if it was hard.

Nori was learning how to be a Dwarf of Erebor. The others who’d been war dogs were also learning it. Most had moved out of the barracks to live with their families or in smaller groups with each other, but they all still met regularly to talk with Svidr and each other and others who’d helped them – who were still helping them. They were Dwarves of Erebor now, but they would always be war dogs somewhere in the back of their minds. It was never going to leave them.

They were recovered enough it was deemed safe to allow them to spar. Everyone’s weapons had been left outside – even Dwalin’s – so they only had the blunt and padded practice weapons.

It started cautiously enough. A few Dwarves lead them through easy drills, strikes and blocks.

Vild gave in to the boredom first. She tossed her padded sword aside and sank into a grappling crouch with her teeth all bared.

“Fight me!” she challenged, and her sparring partner flung hirself at Vild with a wild scream. Everyone cleared a space around them quickly, whistling or cheering for a good hit. They fought like war dogs, vicious with their entire bodies. Within moments there were three other groups fighting, and the entire room was cleared to make room for them. The Dwarves who’d been leading the sparring looked frightened, but the former war dogs knew what they were doing. There was blood, split lips and bashed hands and elbows, but no broken bones.

Nori could feel his heart pounding hot in his throat and the tips of his fingertips, breathing faster. So long. It had been so long since he fought. It had been his only release for so long. He had others now, but still. A _fight_.

He _needed_ it. Nori rolled his shoulders, growling quietly under his breath in anticipation.

“You and me,” Sidgra said at Nori’s side, eyes bright and his teeth bared, “Just as soon as there’s room.” His eyes rolled up to Dwalin, impassive behind Nori. “If you think he’ll let you?”

“He’d better,” Nori growled. He _needed_ this. “ _Azaghakhakh_ I’m going to fight Sidgra. Stay here. Don’t interrupt.” He ordered.

“ _Guchir_.” Dwalin answered. Nori stripped out of his shirt and handed it to Dwalin to hold.

As soon as Vild’s match was over and both former war dogs were helping each other off the floor, Nori ran into the empty space. Sidgra was right behind him. There was one breathless moment where they sized each other up. Nori couldn’t remember if he’d ever fought Sidgra before. He likely had, without knowing him as an individual. Sidgra was a touch thicker and broader than Nori, but no taller.

He probably thought his strength would give him victory. Nori snarled as he sank into a crouch, keeping his center of gravity low. Sidgra didn’t need more invitation than that. He growled as he threw himself into Nori, intending to crush and grapple, but Nori had already rolled through it. He managed to plant his elbow deep in Sidgra’s stomach as he flung the heavier Dwarf off, and went immediately on the attack himself.

Sidgra caught Nori’s arm and threw him to smash him into the floor, but Nori curled in mid-air, grabbing on to Sidgra’s arm to pull him off balance. Nori landed with his entire weight poised to throw his unbalanced opponent. Sidgra landed hard but rolled through it and came back screaming.

Nori was good. He was better than Sidgra, but things _hurt_ in ways they hadn’t before, or at least that he hadn’t _noticed_ before. When his lips were bashed against his teeth and bled sharp iron into his mouth, it stung. When he landed hard, it ached. Not enough to stop him. Nori fought with everything he had, as he hadn’t in far too long.

Sidgra caught him in a lucky grapple, leg around Nori’s neck to choke off his air, but Nori knew this one. He knew better than to panic despite the desperate _need_ for air. He twisted his entire body around, ignoring the strain on his neck, fighting to get his own ankle around Sidgra’s neck to pull him off balance. A less flexible Dwarf would never have managed it, but Nori knew exactly how far he could push his body. Just a little further, there were spots in his eyes and his lungs ached, but just a little...

Dwalin hit the fight with all the force of an avalanche and a bellow to shake the roots of the mountain. Sidgra was torn off of Nori, his eyes wild as he tried to fight back – but against _Dwalin_ he was no match. Sidgra was slammed into the floor with all the force in Dwalin’s body, held down with one hand on his chest as Dwalin reached for his chin with the other.

He’d break Sidgra’s neck. Nori’s war dog was more than strong enough, and he wasn’t sparring. He was _protecting_ , and any violence was justified in protection. He was ending the fight as quickly as possible.

Nori coughed one huge breath into his aching lungs and flung himself onto Dwalin. He caught Dwalin off guard or he’d never have gotten him off Sidgra in time. Nori had fought many war dogs bigger than himself, but none as big as Dwalin. Dwalin shouted his rage as Nori knocked him back. Nori stuck to his back, snaking an arm around his thick neck to squeeze. Dwalin slammed himself backward, crushing Nori beneath his bulk as he rolled over him and back up to his knees, free of Nori’s hold.

Nori had already rolled back over himself, he aimed a kick at the side of Dwalin’s face as he sprang back up to his feet. That the kick connected did not phase Dwalin in the slightest. He turned his face to the side and slammed into Nori with his shoulder. Nori had speed, he had flexibility, and he was strong for his size, but against the enraged bulk of Dwalin he had no chance. Dwalin knew his strength was his size, weight, and endurance. And he would use them.

Nori went down hard, crushed under Dwalin. Huge arms closed around him to keep him still, big fingers gripping him bruising-hard as Dwalin slid up the back of his body and it was...

it was...

Nori’s body arched up against Dwalin on its own and his throat moaned, heat pooling down his spine. His legs, which should have been fighting for any leverage, instead fell open to give him more contact against Dwalin’s body. It didn’t make sense, this was fighting. Fighting wasn’t _sexual_ , and yet...

Dwalin’s hand bruised into Nori’s shoulder as he reared up and his blazing blue eyes finally took in _who_ he was fighting. Dwalin’s growl ended with a whimper as his air left him. Nori could see, over his shoulder, Dwalin’s confusion. His _fight_ instinct fighting against the need to _protect_.

Protecting won, of course. He was a war dog, it always would. Dwalin’s bruising grip eased and he gathered Nori up to his chest. Nori was crushed under him still, but Dwalin’s arms bracketed him as his war dog growled at _everyone else_. Protecting him.

“Dwalin,” Nori found his voice, though it was shakier than it should have been and he was trembling with the fought need to push back against Dwalin, open for him and... and... This was not the place for those thoughts, these memories. They needed privacy and time.

“I’m safe Dwalin. Let me go.” The fighting had halted for the moment when Dwalin finally let Nori go and he climbed to his feet. Former war dogs were all watching them, Sidgra’s eyes wider than anyone elses. He was the one who’d nearly died. Nori’s body ached from his fights, and his entire skin felt like it was on fire. He was half-hard in his trousers, which he knew he was not supposed to be.

“I told you not to interrupt.” Nori told Dwalin.

“ _Guchir_.” Dwalin answered. His eyes roved across the assembled Dwarves suspiciously as he crowded close to Nori. Seeing Nori choking must have been too much for him, the need to protect more important than Nori’s orders. Nori didn’t know if he might have done the same. His _Guchir_ had never sparred with anyone.

Nori put on his discarded shirt, very aware of the extra space around him and Dwalin he was being given. Dwalin would have killed Sidgra for sparring with him.

“I should go.” Nori said. He couldn’t spar, he shouldn’t be here.

As he left, only a little slower than a run, he could hear the Dwarves who’d started the sparring trying to calm things down with traditional fighting techniques – as well as former war dogs beginning to fight each other again.

Nori got his and Dwalin’s weapons, and he didn’t stop or talk to anyone on his way home. He paced back and forth in the small rooms of the house with Dwalin close on his heels. He didn’t understand. There were just fragments of reactions in his mind.

His lover – if it was just memories of a single lover and not something he’d compiled from several – had been big. Much bigger than he was. There was the sweep and scratch of his long beard against Nori’s back. There was the strength of his arms pinning Nori down, the weight of his body on top of him. There was the bruising grip of his hands on Nori’s hips and shoulders, and _pleasure_ so vivid Nori bit his lip and whimpered just remembering it.

He was hard, achingly hard and leaving a wet spot on the inside of his clothes so he took them all off. He wanted... he wanted... what did he want? How was he supposed to know? He wanted his lover but Dori just shook his head and sighed like his heart would break when Nori asked him who it had been. Nori stroked his cock and it was good but it wasn’t _right_ and he stopped.

He was in the bedroom and sat down on the bed with a frustrated sigh. How was he wanting so badly something he couldn’t remember? It wasn’t having his nipples sucked on and licked and pinched. That he remembered. It wasn’t having his cock stroked or sucked, that he remembered too. It was his back he wanted. The weight of a body on his back, teeth in the back of his neck. Nori reached up and dug his blunt nails into the spot, closing his eyes as he tried to picture it. He wanted to feel another body sliding up the back of his again. He wanted to open his legs and feel strength and weight and the aching slick stretch of...

Oh. He wanted to be fucked. How had he forgotten being fucked? It was the _best_.

Nori opened his eyes, relief to at least _know_ what he wanted now, even if he couldn’t have it without a lover. Nori went to his blanket and cushion nest on the warg skin rug, and Dwalin followed him. Nori cuddled up to Dwalin’s side, sinfully enjoying the heat and feel of his war dog’s body against his back as he sloppily slicked two fingers with his spit. He needed slick, he knew that much, and he didn’t have anything better at hand.

He spread his legs and brought his fingers down to play at his entrance. The skin was soft and sensitive, clenching against his fingertips as he began to press in. It was awkward, but it did feel good and he knew there was a place inside it was good to press and rub if he could just _reach_ it.

Nori huffed his frustration, squirming as he tried to find a better position. He let out a hurt squawk when Dwalin suddenly stood to leave. Why? Dwalin was always at his back. It wasn’t as though _this_ was much different from when Nori had a wank and that never seemed to bother him. Dwalin went to one of the drawers he kept his clothes in and dug into the back, returning with a small box. He settled on the rug again, pressed to Nori’s back and pulling him close as he handed the box over.

Inside was a small vial of thick oil and a smooth cock carved of dark stone. It had a flared base for a handle, and was similar in size and shape to Nori’s own cock. He knew exactly what it was for. Nori wasted no time slicking it with the oil, warming it between his hands slightly. It was still cool when he brought it down to his arse and pressed the blunt tip of the toy to his entrance. His muscles parted easily for it, accepting it, when he bore down slightly. Nori breathed in quick puffs as he filled himself with the toy, finally fucked himself. It took a little adjusting to find the right depth and angle to find the sweet spot, but Nori cried out once he did. He turned his face into Dwalin’s shoulder, and his war dog held him close.

It was good. It was _so good_ how had he forgotten? How had he lived without for so long? Nori ground the toy deep, fucked himself with it until he was nearly sobbing. He trembled everywhere, every ache and pain in his body utterly forgotten to the pleasure. His cock was sticky-slick with his pre-spending when he finally took it in hand.

“Please,” Nori whispered, even if there was no one to beg for more and no one but himself who could give it to him. He fucked himself with the toy hard and deep, keeping time with his hand on his cock as his back arched into a bow. The pleasure was overwhelming, too hot and intense to bear but he didn’t stop. Pushed himself through until the tension in his body broke – snapped like a cable under too much pressure and he screamed against Dwalin’s shoulder as he spent in the hardest climax he could _remember_.

He collapsed in a heap in Dwalin’s lap, trembling with the aftershocks and the stone toy still deep inside him. Nori was filled and sated and tired, and looked up into his war dog’s face – reached up a hand to touch his rough-bearded cheek.

“Dwalin...” he breathed.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nori realizes something important

Nori collapsed in a trembling heap in Dwalin’s lap. His war dog held him safe and secure, powerful arms and big gentle hands. Nori was tired and sated, the stone toy still seated deep inside him. He was stretched and full with that familiar satisfied ache of being fucked, and he looked up into Dwalin's face.

And he was familiar, too.

Dwalin just _was_. He was a war dog, _Nori’s_ war dog. His bright blue eyes were distant, focused on his endless scan for danger... but if they were soft and looking at Nori, if he was smiling down at him...

His nose was broken crooked with a scar across his face, but if he _didn’t_ have those...

His beard had been short when he turned himself into Nori’s war dog. It was longer now, familiarly rough against Nori’s palm when he reached up to touch it with a shaking hand. His head had been shaved, but it had grown back. His hair was thick and wiry, tousled still from their fight, standing up on the top of his head. Shave the sides and it would stand up in a proud crest all on its own.

"Dwalin..." Nori breathed. _Dwalin_ had been his lover?

...that made far too much sense. Hadn’t they said he'd fought for years to try to free Nori? Hadn’t he turned himself into Nori’s war dog of his own choice? What kind of a commitment would that take? Hadn’t he brought Nori to his own home to live with him? Hadn’t Nori _had_ to find him when he’d been freed? He hadn’t known who Dwalin was, or who he was himself, but he’d needed him. Needed to find him. Protecting was all he knew, and he’d wanted to protect _Dwalin_. Just how he hadn’t known Dori, but he’d still known how to read him.

Didn’t Dwalin know Nori’s braids? No one but family or lovers would know that.

The way Dori looked at him and Dwalin whenever Nori had asked about who his lover had been. The way Balin was always asking Nori if he knew _why_ Dwalin did things. Nori hadn’t thought anything of it. Dwalin had just been a war dog. He just _was_ , like an axe or a wall.

But if Nori had been someone before he was a war dog, and was someone again afterward, wouldn’t Dwalin be too?

“You were my lover?” Nori whispered. How had he not realized? How had it taken him so long to know who Dwalin was?

“No,” Dwalin said. Nori jerked his hand away from Dwalin’s face. He’d been wrong, and it cut through his heart like a knife. These memories weren’t real, then, were just Nori putting Dwalin in the place of whoever his lover had been.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight against the tears that threatened to spill from them. He _wanted_ it to be Dwalin. He pushed out of Dwalin’s arms and limped his way awkwardly to the washroom to clean up, with Dwalin following close behind as he always did.

Nori whined involuntarily as he eased the toy out of himself. He put it in the sink to wash and dampened a cloth with warm water to clean himself up. He cleaned up his front and his thighs first before finally moving to his arse. The rim was tender, oversensitive and aching against his fingers so he wanted to perversely press against it _harder_. He wanted...

...two big fingers buried in him up to the last knuckle, slick with seed and oil, grinding into him hard so he squirmed away from it even as he bucked back against it harder – cried with the overstimulation even as he begged for more. The scratch of a rough beard against his back, sharp teeth biting into the muscles of his shoulders and the sting of it soothed with soft licking and sucking kisses.

A low rumble of a voice whispering against his skin, “So greedy, like to get fucked raw, don’t you? Mahal, you’re beautiful when you’re hungry like this...”

Nori gasped with the intensity of the memory, legs parting wider on instinct. He wanted... but that had been Dwalin’s voice. That had been Dwalin’s fingers, Dwalin’s seed inside him, Dwalin’s body against the back of his.

It made no sense.

“What were we?” Nori demanded, flinging his washrag into the sink. He rounded on his war dog, standing impassive at the door. “If we weren’t lovers, then _what were we_?”

“Betrothed.” Dwalin’s expression did not change in the slightest, he did not _look_ at Nori as he said the word that dropped Nori’s legs out from under him. He stumbled to sit on the edge of the tub, staring at Dwalin.

Betrothed.

Dwalin was from a noble family and Nori was a commoner. He’d just been a poacher and a thief. He couldn’t even bear an heir for his line, why would Dwalin marry him? Nori had been very pretty, he knew that much, but Nobles don’t _marry_ pretty bedwarmers.

But neither do they fight for years to free and then turn themselves into war dogs to save someone who’s nothing but a bedwarmer to them either.

Dwalin loved him. Dwalin loved him enough to give up his _life_ for him, and all this time Nori hadn’t even known him.

He couldn’t stop his tears this time. Dwalin loved him and now he was a war dog and _couldn’t_. He was _right here_ and an infinite distance from Nori. Nori stood and stumbled into Dwalin’s chest, clinging to the crossed leather of his axe harness as he sobbed. Dwalin’s strong arms came around him to hold him, but it wasn’t right. It was impersonal – holding him close to guard him. Nori was bare in his arms and he did not pet or stroke or appreciate.

When Nori gathered himself a little and reached up to try to give Dwalin back his beard braids, braid his hair as a lover, as betrothed, as _family_ – Dwalin jerked his head away and growled at him. A war dog took no affection, no promises, and Nori collapsed in tears against him again.

Dwalin just held and protected. That was all he could do.

 

Nori had made himself decent, and he knew how to put on a brave face, but Dori knew how to read him as well as he knew how to read Dori. His brother pulled him into the house to talk in private as soon as Nori showed up on his doorstep.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Dori demanded. “I heard you had to fight him, but...”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nori begged, his mask crumbling as he clung to Dori, “Why didn’t you tell me Dwalin was my betrothed? My lover? Why didn’t you tell me I love him?”

“ _Nadaduh umamu_...” Dori soothed, his eyes sad as he cupped the side of Nori’s face. “Would it have meant _anything_ to you when you first returned to Erebor?”

Nori shook his head. It wouldn’t have, it had taken so long to piece together enough of his life that it made any sense, but it still wasn’t _right_.

“I have to get him free,” Nori said. “There _has_ to be a way to get him free.”

There was no way.

Nori hunched over the cup of tea Dori made for him – watched his brother make up a cup for Dwalin too, with two big spoonfuls of honey to sweeten it.

“He likes sweets.” Dori said, a little tearful tremble on the edge of his fond smile. “When he lost you, I served him tea bitter and plain... and he _still_ drank it and thanked me for it and came back every month for more. He loved you so much, Nori. I didn’t trust him at first, I thought he just wanted into your bed. Then I realized that of course you’d given him _that_ right away and he was still good to you, still trying to win my favor and still seeing that Ori could get a good education. He courted you so sweetly with that song he wrote you and those knives he made you – he didn’t have a lie in him. He was so good to you Nori, and he never gave up...” Dori broke off, dabbing at his eyes with his handkerchief.

Dwalin picked up his teacup and drained it in a few big gulps, as expressionless as if he’d been drinking water. He took no pleasure or comfort in it.

“I have to free him.” Nori repeated, but there was no way. Ori came home, and even he didn’t have an answer. Nori had been content, before, to let them discuss possibilities without him. Now he wanted to know. They had discussed and discarded the possibility of a forced separation – locking Dwalin up somewhere far away from Nori. From talking with other former war dogs, they knew a war dog would not hesitate to injure themselves trying to get to their _Guchir_ if they were separated. Dwalin would bash himself to death against any door that kept him away from Nori. There had been talk of a _temporary_ death, if Nori’s heart and lungs could be stopped for a short time it might be enough to break the spell on Dwalin. Oin said there were toxins that could do it, but there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t be a _permanent_ death after all, even with the best medical care Erebor could provide. It was too risky, especially with no guarantee that the spell wouldn’t come back as soon as Nori was alive again.

Not that Dwalin was likely to allow healers near Nori if it seemed like they would hurt him.

Nori was willing to risk it, if there wasn’t a better option to try. He _needed_ Dwalin free.

“There has to be a way to undo the spell, a counterspell. There has to.” Nori told Ori. His little brother shook his head, sighing.

“Dwalin and I spent _years_ researching this. If there ever was, it’s lost. Maybe they knew in Gundabad or Nogrod or Gabilgathol or even in Kazad-dum, but we have lost _so much_ of the ancient knowledge. More records are lost with every lost homeland.”

“So we don’t have the original, we can make it up again!” Nori told him. “I’m not a khuzdul scholar, but you are! The spell is short and simple, it has to be something simple to break it.”

It was a new angle, one they’d not thought to try before. It was a long shot of course, but they had nothing else. None of them knew the words of the spell, and Dwalin would not say it when Nori asked him, so they could only guess how to counter it. Ori promised he would research it, try to come up with good options for Nori to try, but when he finally went home with Dwalin he was no closer to freeing him than he’d been before he went to his brothers for help.

“I want you to be free, Dwalin. I free you.” Nori told him that night on the warg-skin rug. He rested his hand on the center of Dwalin’s chest. “I free you.”

“ _Guchir_ ,” Dwalin answered.

“No! I free you. You’re free. You’re not my war dog anymore!” His words did not make any difference to Dwalin, still on guard, still searching the empty room for threats and listening to the silence for any intruders. “Be free!” Nori hit Dwalin with the side of his fist, as if he could force the words into his heart.

Dwalin caught his hand, keeping it still. “ _Guchir_ ,” he said again. Nori slumped against him. He didn’t even have the energy to cry any more today, and didn’t fight as Dwalin pulled him close. The day had been so long. He’d fought like a war dog, and he’d fucked himself, and he’d remembered Dwalin. He was sore everywhere from the first two, and his heart was bruised to breaking from the last. He just didn’t have any fight left in him today.

Dwalin had never given up, and Nori wouldn’t give up either, but for tonight he took what tiny comfort there was in being held close against Dwalin’s chest. It wasn’t right, it was just for protection, but it was the best he could have.

He would never stop fighting, but he tucked himself tight into the safety of Dwalin’s arms, and it was enough for now.


	15. protect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The _azaghakhakh_ protected its _Guchir_

The _azaghakhakh_ protected its _Guchir_.

Its _Guchir_ had been upset earlier, but now he slept, and it held him close. It kept its _Guchir_ close to keep him safe.

It had protected its _Guchir_ as he became more confident, and protected him still. It kept sharp axes and a careful lookout at all times so its _Guchir_ was never in danger. It did what it could to make things _right_. It was right for its _Guchir_ to wear his hair up in big peaks, and to bind his braids with clasps of amethyst and gold. It was right for its _Guchir_ to carry knives. It was right for its _Guchir_ to smile and laugh and have pleasure. It was right for its _Guchir_ to live in this house with it.

It was right for its _Guchir_ to lie close to the _azaghakhakh_.

Often its _Guchir_ would spend time in the tinker shop repairing things, and the _azaghakhakh_ would stand watch. Often its _Guchir_ would meet with groups of former war dogs, and the _azaghakhakh_ would keep watch. Sometimes its _Guchir_ would meet with smaller groups of Dwarves, and the _azaghakhakh_ would keep watch. Sometimes its _Guchir_ was frightened, and it would hold him close against its chest and growl at whoever had frightened him. It was _never_ right for its _Guchir_ to be frightened or hurt. It was right for it to protect its _Guchir_.

At night its _Guchir_ was close to be kept safe, and the _azaghakhakh_ kept watch. It held its  _Guchir_ close, wrapped its body tight around him so any enemy who caught it unawares could not easily reach him. It fought the drooping of its eyelids, but it could not remain awake forever.

It protected its _Guchir_ as much as it could. It slept as lightly as it could to be sure to be able to protect its _Guchir_.

The _azaghakhakh_ protected its _Guchir_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you listened to the War Dogs playlist yet?  
> http://8tracks.com/nowitsaparty/war-dogs


	16. oaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this hope I see on the horizon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - brief suicidal thoughts

Nori nodded deeply to them when Fili and Kili fell in beside him and Dwalin. He had not known at first that they were princes, just that they liked to check on Dwalin sometimes. They liked to talk to him, tell him things, even though Nori had explained that Dwalin couldn’t recognize their faces or understand their words.

“Where are you heading, Nori?” Fili asked as Kili began walking as close as Dwalin would let him, talking at him about his archery and a new kind of bow he was trying out. The princes had been among the group who brought the former war dogs back to Erebor. A lot of that group did not like Nori, but Fili and Kili didn’t seem to mind him as much. He still kept a careful eye on them.

“The Great Library,” Nori answered, though it was obvious as he was walking up the steps to the door. “Ori has more counterspell options to try.” There were more options every few weeks, Ori and a few other scholars composed them and gathered them up, and Nori tried them all. None of them had even the slightest effect.

It might be that there _was_ no counterspell, that there had never been, but Nori had to _try_. He had to free Dwalin. Nori wondered, sometimes, if he was brave enough to give his life up to let Dwalin have his. Dwalin had loved him enough to give himself up for Nori, and maybe Nori didn’t love him as much because he wanted to _live_. Dori had ordered him not to even think such things when Nori told him, but he couldn’t help wondering.

“There you are Nori, we were just looking for...” Ori broke off his greeting, seeing the princes with Nori and bowing to them instead. “Your highnesses.”

“You’re really writing a counterspell?” Kili asked brightly.

“Trying to,” Ori said, nodding. “If there ever was a counterspell, it’s been lost. Dwalin and I searched these records for years and there is no sign of one ever existing, but we have to _try_.” Ori gestured toward _all_ of the library, then shrugged.

“But would it have ever been in public record?” Fili asked. “You’d never find the original spell in here either.”

“Well, no,” Ori hunched into his soft knit scarf, “But I can only work with what I _have_.”

“It does seem more like something that would be in the palace’s sacred records, if anywhere,” Kili said, nodding to Fili. Fili made a ‘shut up’ sort of gesture at Kili, but his brother was grinning at Ori instead of paying attention to him.

“There are other records?” Ori breathed, eyes bright.

“Oh, tons.” Kili said lightly, “All locked up in a big dusty room. Nobody ever goes in there, and I don’t think anyone knows how to read any of it anymore. There’s records there rescued from Khazad-dum and I think even some that came there from the sacking of...” Kili finally noticed Fili and his shoulders hunched in. “...gundabad.” he ended in a whisper.

“There’s records and no one...” Ori gasped like a fish, opening and closing his mouth in shocked confusion as he gazed between the princes.

“They’re dangerous, old sacred texts,” Fili said, voice low and confidential. “Who knows if there’s things in there even more dangerous than the war dogs spell? There used to be curators, but their family line ended and no one can read them anymore. We’re not _supposed_ to talk about it.” He threw a glare at Kili, who answered with his best kicked-puppy expression.

“I need to see them.” Ori’s pale face was set, his eyes very wide. “I _need_ to see them. I’m good with languages, they must just be a variant of khuzdul. I need to see them if there’s a chance...”

“We can’t,” Fili said, backing up a step even though Nori could see him torn. He was saying what he was supposed to, not what he wanted to. “They’re dangerous. No one’s even supposed to know they exist.”

“Please,” Nori begged. If there was any chance he could get Dwalin free, he had to take it.

“Please,” Ori echoed him, hands twisting tight in his scarf. “I’ll take any oaths you need of me, accept any terms, but I need to see them.”

“We _can’t_.” Fili repeated.

“Fili?” Kili was using his best puppy eyes again, gazing mournfully at his brother. “If I ever had to make myself your war dog, I’d like to know I could be freed again. If it’s in the sacred records don’t you think...”

“No!” Fili pointed a trembling finger at his brother. “Don’t you even _talk_ about doing that.”

“But I _would,_ ” Kili said. “I would, if the other choice was you dying. You’re the _heir_ , Fili. I would do that for you.”

“No.” Fili’s bottom lip trembled slightly before he hid it behind a stoic mask, shaking his head.

“If he was your war dog you would want to free him,” Nori said, very quietly, “because you love him. Imagine you were told there might be a way, but you were not allowed to look for it.”

Fili looked back and forth between them all – Ori’s hopeful face, Kili’s begging eyes, Nori leaning against Dwalin to take what small closeness his betrothed was still able to give him.

“I...” Fili swallowed hard. “This is not a decision I can make on my own, but I will advocate for it. Let’s go, Kili.” The princes turned and left as one, and Nori and Ori watched them go.

Ori whispered something into his scarf, “seven fathers, _please_ ” it sounded like, though it was too quiet for Nori to be sure.

“Let’s go,” Ori smiled at Nori, only a little tense around the edges. “I’ve gathered some very good options this time.” Ori said the same thing every time, but Nori still smiled back.

“Let’s try them,” he answered. They had to keep trying.

 

It wasn’t a week later that Lady Dis herself came to visit Ori at home. They’d had warning, so there had been a great deal of cleaning things that were – in Nori’s opinion – already clean. She came alone, a sign of trust. Dori and Ori were unarmed, a show of trust on their parts, and Nori appeared to be unarmed. Dwalin was a noble, so he ought to be armed in her presence to symbolically serve as her guard, but at the same time he was also Nori’s war dog and thus an extension of Nori. They had compromised by taking his axes and leaving him with his knuckledusters and knife. Between him and Nori they would be more than enough if it came to a fight, though Nori knew he wasn’t supposed to evaluate every situation as if it were going to be a fight. Svidr told him so, but it was a hard habit to break.

Lady Dis was an imposing woman, tall and dark haired with an elegantly tended beard. She moved with _presence_ through a space, but Nori could see that Fili had gotten the brightness of his eyes from her, and Kili his smile in the turn of her lips.

Dori, Nori, and Ori bowed to Lady Dis, welcoming her, while Dwalin folded his arms and stood on watch.

“He truly is _gone_.” Lady Dis mused, watching Dwalin watch her and everyone else. “I had heard, but to see it is... He used to know me. I supported his bid for recovery of the taken. I knew him well enough to trust him with my sons...”

“Then you understand why we must get him back.” Dori said. He had refreshments out, and Lady Dis sat graciously to sample and compliment them before she turned to Ori.

“My sons tell me you have sued to be given access to the sacred records?”

“Yes, my Lady.” Ori said, nodding to her. His voice was firm and his gaze direct, but his fingers fidgeting in the bottom hem of his cardigan gave his nerves away. “With Balin, if possible. I would ask for Dwalin to help with the research, but well...” he gestured toward Dwalin, standing stoically behind Nori.

“Balin has agreed to this?” Lady Dis asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, no, I haven’t asked him,” Ori was quick to assure her, “It didn’t seem like Kili was _supposed_ to tell anyone about the records. I wouldn’t spread it around further without leave.”

“But Dori knew, of course,” Lady Dis smiled, nodding at Dori.

“My Lady, I only knew you were visiting about a possible way to free Dwalin.” Dori corrected, “Sacred records?”

“There are very few records kept at the palace,” Lady Dis explained, leaning back in her chair. “Very rare, and very dangerous. They are the most precious volumes, carried from lost homeland to lost homeland. No one can read them anymore, and it was deemed safest that way when the family line of the curators failed.”

“If there was a counterspell to the war dogs spell, and it was written, that is the only place it would be.” Ori said. “They must be written in khuzdul, an unknown angerthas. I already read angerthas Erebor and Khazad-dum, as well as those of the Orocarni. I should be able to decipher them, with study.”

“I do not doubt you could, Master Ori.” Lady Dis nodded to him, “I took the liberty of looking into your work. Your scholarship is impeccable.”

Ori turned pink at that, and Dori preened. He’d always been so proud of Ori, and for good reason.

“Dori, Nori, Dwalin – if you would give me leave to interview Ori in private?” Lady Dis asked, and she did manage to make it sound like a request though it was obviously an order. “My sons have made a compelling argument for allowing Ori access to the records, but in a matter of this delicacy I must take every precaution, you understand?”

Dori made a polite agreement, and Nori followed him out of the sitting room with Dwalin on his heels. Nori would have kicked off his boots and crept up to listen through the ventilation shafts, but Dori grabbed him and towed him to the kitchen to wait. Dwalin likely would have given him away anyway. He wasn’t naturally stealthy.

Lady Dis’ interview lasted for hours. She thanked Dori for his hospitality and left as soon as she was done, and Nori and Dori both ran back into the sitting room to check on Ori as soon as she was gone. Their youngest brother’s face was very pale, but his expression was set in determination.

“How did it go?” Nori asked.

“Good, I think?” Ori said, “Unless... maybe it was bad? I don’t know!” He twisted his hands together in the tail of his scarf.

“I’m sure you did wonderfully. Anyone would be a fool not to see you’re as honest as the stone.” Dori soothed, “Now let’s get some food into you, hmm?”

There were a lot of meetings after that. Polite royal guards came to escort Ori to the palace more than once, and people had been asking around about the whole family. People were digging into their pasts, talking with their old friends. They probably knew more about Nori than _Nori_ did, and that worried him. He knew he’d never been the most honest of Dwarves, and if they didn’t trust Ori with the records because of Nori... if Nori lost the chance to free Dwalin because of who he’d been...

Ori wouldn’t tell them what his meetings were like, of course. He was in turns excited and grim. It went on for months, which must mean that they were still considering it. They had not yet turned Ori away. Nori had to believe that they were not just playing with their hopes, but you never knew with royals. They didn’t think like other people.

Nori was working in Dori’s shop, doing some simple mending, when Ori came in supported by Fili and Kili.

“I’m fine now, really. Thank you,” Ori said, sitting a little shakily on a bench. His left hand was bandaged up.

“Be careful. Take care of it,” Fili said, resting a hand on Ori’s shoulder.

“It was _very_ brave,” Kili added, grinning brightly at Ori who smiled weakly back.

“Well, I _had_ to,” he said. “You’d do the same.”

The princes glanced at each other, a little grim but full of affection as they nodded. Dori came in then, and he noticed how shaky Ori was – the bandage on his hand – before he remembered to be polite to royalty.

“Ori, what have they done to you? What have you done to him?” Dori demanded. He might be a classic beauty, but he was not to be underestimated if angry. Dori was strong, stronger than probably anyone but Dwalin and stronger even than him if Dwalin wasn’t a war dog. He picked up a heavy hammer on his way across the shop, probably unconsciously. “I’ve put up with you lot calling him away at all hours, but if you’ve hurt him seven fathers help me, I’ll...”

“No, no, Dori...” Ori soothed, “They didn’t do anything, I can explain.”

“You had better,” Dori answered through his teeth.

“It’s good news, really!” Ori said, and his smile was bright even if he was still shaky, “There were just a few oaths I had to swear, you know...”

“Blood oaths. Usually they’d happen over years, but he did them all at once,” Fili elaborated, tone impressed.

“...why would you...” Dori breathed, but Nori’s heart was already in his throat – mending forgotten as he stood to step toward his brother – hope so sharp it cut.

“I am the new curator of the Royal Sacred Records,” Ori smiled.


	17. counterspell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori comes through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us all take a moment to appreciate nowitsaparty, who manages excellent art despite being crazy busy.  
> This chapter hurt to write.

Nori hugged Ori and couldn’t let him go the day his little brother came to tell him he’d found the counterspell. They hadn’t stopped trying to come up with options of their own in the mean time, but their true hope was the sacred records. Nori had supported Ori the best he could – when Ori was frustrated trying to learn to read the scripts of the books, when he despaired over the sheer number of books to look through.

There had been a good deal of anger on all sides when Ori and Balin discovered a stack of books that did not have the dust of generations on them. Books that had been disturbed in the years the records were supposedly locked up, unread and unreadable. There was no way to tell for certain, but they guessed enough dust had resettled on them that they might have been disturbed when the rebels were gathering their forces for the _karak_.

“This would never have happened if they’d had a _proper_ curator!” Ori fumed, viciously stabbing a potato with his fork and waving it for emphasis, “You can’t just leave these things lying around, unwatched!”

“But they have you now,” Nori told him, glancing toward the five scars that marked the muscle on the outside of Ori’s left hand, each one stained with a different ore for a different oath. Ori couldn’t tell them what he’d sworn, or even most of what he did at work, but he’d done it for Nori.

Nori was just glad that he seemed to love the old records so much. Knowing they existed, he might have tried to become their curator even without the need to free Dwalin.

“They have me, and I’ll make sure there are others after me too!” Ori agreed firmly.

It had not been quick or easy, but Ori eventually figured out the different scripts the sacred records were written in. Nori was having a quiet evening at home with Dwalin when Ori disturbed them pounding on the door. He was red-faced and breathless from running so he could barely speak, but he managed it.

“I found it!” Ori gasped, “I found the counterspell,” and Nori hugged him and couldn’t let go.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered, finally pushing Ori back a little bit before hugging him tight again until he squeaked. “Tell me how! Let’s set Dwalin free!”

Ori hesitated, then, and Nori should have paid attention to that. He was too happy; he didn’t pay it any mind. He turned and smiled back at Dwalin, at his betrothed he was _finally_ going to be able to have back, and when he turned back Ori was talking.

“I have to make sure everything’s perfect for it, double-check with Balin for the pronunciations. It’ll probably be tomorrow evening before we can do it. I just got excited and I wanted to tell you,” Ori explained, and Nori hugged him again, knocked foreheads with him and kissed his cheeks and laughed. He was going to have his Dwalin back, finally. He’d waited so long, and now he knew the wait was over. He could hold on one more night.

Nori couldn’t stop smiling that evening, his heart brimming-full. He danced around the house and laughed at himself for it, with Dwalin silently following behind him.

“You’re going to be free,” Nori told him. He couldn’t contain himself, had too much energy to sleep. He celebrated by baking a batch of biscuits, and if some of them were burnt on the bottom he was too happy to care, and Dwalin had never minded even when he wasn’t a war dog. Nori remembered that. They ate the biscuits together, and cleaned the kitchen up, and then it was late enough Dwalin’s eyes were drooping and Nori didn’t have the heart to keep him from bed.

Nori let Dwalin take over combing his hair, it was rare enough when he did that. Nori leaned back and relaxed into the affection, small as it was. He’d learned to enjoy the most of what little Dwalin was still able to give him.

“Soon we’ll have so much more than this,” Nori promised Dwalin. “Soon we can be together.” He’d waited so long.

They lay in their blankets on the warg skin rug by the fire, cuddled up close and safe together. Nori petted Dwalin’s thick rough beard as much as he could before Dwalin growled at him. Soon he would be able to brush and braid Dwalin’s hair and beard. Soon they could talk and kiss and hold and _love_ the way they were meant to.

“Soon,” Nori promised, and he believed it when he said it.

 

Nori was too happy to wonder about the place that had been chosen for freeing Dwalin. He didn’t wonder about why Balin and Oin and Gloin were there, along with Dori and a handful of soldiers. He didn’t really wonder why he was asked to disarm himself, he just did it and ordered the same of Dwalin the way he’d gotten used to.

“Is it for the spell?” Nori asked Ori, who shook his head, glancing slightly away from him. Nori didn’t pay attention to that either. He should have. Instead he smiled at everyone and gave up all his obvious knives, and then more when Dori gave him a _look_.

“We’re going to have Dwalin free.” Nori told everyone, bouncing on the toes of his boots and smiling so hard his face hurt. They knew it already, of course, but he couldn’t contain himself. He’d waited so long for this, and finally Ori was going to give him the means to free Dwalin. Ori, who’d worked so hard for him. He loved his brother, and told him so when they went to the room to free Dwalin. Nori didn’t pick up on the way Dori and Balin glanced at each other, Ori’s lack of eye contact. He was too excited.

“We actually got close with some of the phrases a few times,” Ori said, talking fast and nervous. “But it’s a very specific spell. I could have tried for decades, but these royal declensions... I don’t think I’d ever have tried them. I wish I could show you the book I found them in. Angerthas Gundabad, it’s so beautiful, and the book was written in gold trapped between mica sheets, thin and flexible as paper but a thousand times more sturdy. We don’t have that technology anymore!”

Balin and Ori talked Nori through the spell, and it _was_ simple.

“I’ve got it. Let’s do it!” Nori couldn’t wait.

“You’re really going through with it?” Gloin asked gruffly.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Nori asked, grinning, “I’m going to have _Dwalin_ back.”

“No better moment than now,” Balin broke in gently. “Shall we?” he gestured Nori to the center of the little room as everyone else ranged around. Nori didn’t pay attention to how they placed themselves, though Dwalin growled slightly at Dori who was right behind Nori until he took a cautious step back.

“I’m going to set you free. Kneel, _azaghakhakh_. Give me your hand.” Nori gestured Dwalin before him, and clasped hands with him, just the way Balin and Ori had told him. Dwalin’s bright blue eyes met his, and Nori could nearly cry for joy. He was finally, _finally_ , getting to set Dwalin free. He gave Dwalin’s hand a harder squeeze, and smiled as he carefully spoke the ritual words in sacred khuzdul. There could be no mistakes, it was too important.

“ _Your life you have given to preserve mine, your thoughts you have given to protect me, your weapons you have given to guard me. In danger you have served me, in safety I release you._ ”

Dwalin’s eyes were fixed on Nori, seeing nothing else around him, as Nori leaned forward to seal the spell with a kiss to the brow.

There was a breathless moment, half a heartbeat when Nori was terrified it hadn’t worked, when his hope turned to ash on his tongue, before Dwalin’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed backward in a heap.

Nori reached forward with a gasp, trying to catch Dwalin, but a hard hand like iron had closed over his mouth and Nori was too shocked to even fight back. Ori was standing with tears in his eyes and his hands over his mouth, Balin and Oin and Gloin all converging on Dwalin, and then Nori was dragged clear out of the room.

Dori – _Dori, why?_ – might be the strongest Dwarf Nori knew, but Nori’d been vicious _before_ he was a war dog. It took him a single breath to get over the shock of the betrayal before he exploded in violence.

Dori didn’t stand a chance. Nori tripped him off balance with a well placed ankle as he snaked his arm around Dori’s neck. He tucked his whole body, and he might be _small_ but he had the weight and leverage to roll Dori over him and to the ground. Dori hit hard, he was a tinker not a fighter, and Nori came up with his boot knives in his hands before he even began to catch his breath.

Nori snarled, keeping his center of gravity low as he edged toward the door he’d been dragged out of.

“No!” Dori said, reaching out, and Nori growled at him with all his teeth bared. He was supposed to be with _Dwalin_. When he’d known _nothing_ he’d known that much.

“Think, Nori!” Dori begged. “Would you have ever recovered if your _Guchir_ had been right there?” he asked.

“...I freed him?” Nori’d done what he was supposed to. It wasn’t the same, was it? He’d freed Dwalin and he hadn’t made Dwalin his in the first place. He never wanted to hurt Dwalin.

“You can’t be with him.” Dori said, speaking quick and quiet as he stood, blocking Nori’s path. “I’m sorry Nori, but you can’t be with him. You freed him but you were his _Guchir_ and things can never be the way they were, now. Surely you can understand that?”

“... but I love him?” it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair_ he’d done what he was supposed to do. He’d freed Dwalin and now he was supposed to be with him.

“Nori?” Dwalin’s voice carried out of the room. His _name_. The first thing Dwalin spoke as himself and it was Nori’s _name_. It cut into his heart, and Nori tried to step past Dori to him. Dwalin _called_ for him.

Dori stepped close, blocking his path. His gray eyes were full of tears but piercingly direct. “If you really love him, you’ll want what’s best for him. Come away with me.”

“but...” Nori’s lips moved on the word, but he had no voice to give it, no argument he could make. He loved Dwalin. He loved Dwalin enough to do _anything_ for him.

Nori didn’t fight when Dori wrapped an arm around him and dragged him away.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> family conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nori's theme song for this and the previous chapter is Home by Daughter:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNBtORp20t4

Three days.

Three days since everything Nori dreamed to sustain himself was torn from his grasp, leaving him destitute.

Three days, probably Dwalin would be remembering how to speak, now. Learning how to take care and make decisions for himself.

As for Nori, he didn’t have any words at all. There was nothing to say. He had taken out his gold and amethyst hair clasps, he would wear no adornment, and given them to Dori. Let him sell them or use them for raw materials, Nori knew his keep was more than he made working in the tinker shop. He brushed down his peaks – it was a style for a young Dwarf, a cocky Dwarf, and he was neither. Not anymore.

Nori could not _quite_ bring himself to cut off his hair. He hesitated each time he brought the edge of a knife to the base of a braid. Instead he did his hair all in mourning braids bound with simple leather ties.

“You look like a widower,” Dori said softly. Nori said nothing. What was there to say?

Nori was naked without Dwalin. He wore every knife he could and kept his back to the wall, but it wasn’t the same. He was so alone. Dori was with him all the time – keeping watch on him – but it wasn’t the same. Dwalin was supposed to be with him. Dwalin had always been with him.

He helped Dori in the shop and house as much as he could, though there were moments when just _breathing_ was all he could do.

Dori eased something out of Nori’s stiff fingers – he didn’t even know what it was that he was supposed to be fixing – and replaced it with the pieces of his favorite tea cup. Nori looked at it in confusion. When had it broken?

“I dropped my teacup, can you fix it for me?” Dori asked, kneeling by Nori’s side. “You’re so good at it, and I’m busy with this tapestry repair...”

Nori lay the pieces out in front of him. He’d never known Dori to be careless enough to break a teacup, much less his favorite. Maybe he’d dropped it on purpose to give Nori something to do. Nori nodded anyway.

“Thank you, _nadadith_ , I appreciate this so much,” Dori smiled with sadness on the edges, squeezing Nori’s shoulder as he stood to go to his own work.

Nori carefully organized all the broken pieces, and then gathered up the lacquer ingredients and a little platinum powder that would look better than gold for this repair. He took his time with the repair, fitting each piece back where it belonged. It was a beautiful cup, delicate cracked porcelain, and Nori made it pretty again. He pieced it together with lacquer and sealed it with platinum. It was a badly broken cup, but Nori put it back together again. The cracks would always show, but they were decorative with precious metals now. The cup was whole and useful again.

Nori looked at the pretty cup for a long time in the once-comfortable quiet of the tinker’s shop, before he picked it up and hurled it at the wall with all the force in his body.

 

Dori screamed, raising his arms to protect his face as his favorite teacup exploded into a thousand sharp glittering shards against the wall. Nori stood at the work bench he’d set up for himself, and he was not breathing hard, was not angry.

Anger or hatred would have been easier to deal with. Dori had been prepared for them, that Nori might never forgive him. Anger would have been easier than silent, broken, acceptance. Dori had explained it all to Nori, how his presence could not be good for Dwalin as clearly and carefully as he could. Newly freed war dogs were so lost and fragile. Nori had just nodded. He did not speak, or cry, or make any sound. He ate what was put before him, and he generally repaired whatever Dori gave him to work on, but he was not dealing well.

Not that any of them had expected him to.

Nori watched the shards of Dori’s teacup fall to the floor, and his blank face finally crumpled into abject misery. A soft broken sound, like a choked sob, fell from Nori’s mouth before he turned and ran through the door that lead into the house.

Dori hesitated, hands clenched on his tapestry, as he made his decision. If Nori had run out into Erebor Dori would have had to follow him at once to be sure he wasn’t trying to find Dwalin. Nori was just running into the house, Dori could leave him a moment’s privacy before he searched for him. Dori carefully tied the loose threads of his mending so they would not unravel, then got a brush and dustpan to carefully clean up the shards of his favorite teacup so they wouldn’t spread everywhere or injure anyone.

Nori wasn’t hard to find. He was lying on the floor in his old bedroom, where he’d been staying these past few days, and he wasn’t crying. His eyes didn’t look like he had either. He’d been sleeping there at night, on the thin old rug on the floor instead of the bed.

“At least lay on the bed, Nori?” Dori tried, attempting to pick him up, but Nori resisted by going limp and slid out of his hands to return to the floor. Dori couldn’t bring himself to _make_ Nori do anything, but he couldn’t just leave him alone in his misery. Dori carefully lowered himself to the floor, lying beside him so they could see each other’s face. He rested his hand on top of Nori’s and was just _with_ him, as much as he could be. The tapestry would be late, but family was more important.

“I broke your teacup,” Nori said finally, half into the rug.

“I broke it first,” Dori answered. “It’s alright. I have other teacups, but only one of you.”

Nori blinked slowly as he nodded that silent accepting nod that Dori was beginning to hate.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Before?” Nori asked quietly.

Dori squeezed Nori’s hand slightly. “We had to be sure you really _would_ free him.”

Nori lifted his head just slightly to look at Dori, and his eyes were so _old_ under his heavy mourning braids.

“I love him.” Three soft words and they said everything. Dori nodded. Nori would have done it anyway. He knew that, he did, but they’d had to be absolutely sure. The spell would not work unless freely given, and they’d had no way to know if Nori had turned Dwalin himself. He’d always claimed innocence, but even before he learned or remembered _anything_ Nori knew how to steal and lie. They hadn’t dared tell Nori he couldn’t have Dwalin, they hadn’t even told Ori until it became necessary. Dori did not think he could choose to do things differently if given the same choices, but it had hurt Nori so terribly and he hated it.

“I wish you hadn’t let me hope,” Nori said, sinking back down against the rug.

“I’m sorry,” Dori told him, reaching over to pet his braids and his back. “I’m so sorry, but you are strong. You _will_ survive this.”

“I’ve survived worse,” Nori murmured, looking up at him with a tiny smile so hurt and so fragile it broke Dori’s heart all over again.

 

Over a week, and no one had said Nori’s name in Dwalin’s presence. Dwalin was awake, he was _himself_ , and that meant he had failed.

Time had passed, obviously. His hair had grown back into a thick shaggy mess across his head. The wound that had burned across his face was a well-worn scar, and the one that had killed him was the same. Dwalin had inspected it carefully, the line of deep scar-tissue across his stomach. It had the look of having been sewn. Oin’s work probably.

He had survived, when he hadn’t expected to. He’d lived as Nori’s war dog for some time, obviously. But now he was himself again, and that meant he had failed. Dwalin could only be himself if Nori was dead. He’d searched all the old records. It was the only way.

He was in Erebor, in his family’s home under close watch. He had no weapons, no access to anything sharp. He overheard them talking about that, reminding each other to be vigilant, considering what he’d done to himself last time.

A reference to the last time he’d lost Nori, and it was the closest any of his family had come to acknowledging that Nori ever existed.

Dwalin could remember his life up to making himself Nori’s war dog to try to save him, and he could remember waking up, and he didn’t know how much of what he remembered between those two points was real. The cruelest part was that his last memory before waking up was of Nori smiling at him bright as gold, Nori’s lips on his brow.

Was that how his mind had chosen to translate Nori’s death?

He’d been disoriented when he woke, with Balin and Oin and Gloin crowding in close – and he wondered if they’d been blocking the view of Nori’s body. They had certainly hurried him away quickly. Dwalin didn’t seem to have fought recently, though, and he didn’t know how they might have killed Nori that he wouldn’t have stopped.

He’d have fought to the death for Nori even before he turned himself into his war dog, and he had failed in that.

Again.

They’d brought a Dwarf to talk to Dwalin, to evaluate how he was doing, and Dwalin had demonstrated that his ability to say ‘no’ was unimpaired by sending Svidr away again. He remembered helping choose and hire Svidr to work with the former war dogs, but he did not need a counselor. He’d never been made to do anything he didn’t want to, not like those war dogs who’d been taken against their will. He remembered holding Nori when he slept, and protecting him when he was afraid. It was nothing he hadn’t already wanted to do, and he explained as much in short sharp words.

He did not need help to learn how to be a Dwarf. He needed Nori, but all he had were memories. All he’d _ever_ have were memories.

No one mentioned Nori or said his name, as though Dwalin could just forget him. As though his determination to find and protect weren’t inked across the skin of his hands so he could _never_ forget. He had been so determined, and he had failed.

He tried to hope that Nori had been weakened by his ordeal as a war dog, that he’d succumbed to some illness, but he did not remember Nori being sickly. He remembered Nori strong and bright and laughing.

And now Nori was dead, and no one would say his name or acknowledge that Dwalin had ever been betrothed, ever loved him. Over a week Dwalin had spent practically prisoner in his family’s house, where the memory of Nori clung like a ghost to the corners. It was different than it had been, Fundin’s old war wounds had caught up with her and she was in a wheeled chair most of the time now. Things were moved in the house to accommodate her, but enough was the same that Dwalin could not help but remember his lost betrothed.

Dwalin did not much want to talk to his family, and Fundin gave him his space, but Balin still sought him out regularly to try and feel out how much Dwalin remembered. Not that he would say it in so many words.

“What do you want, Balin?” Dwalin demanded, when he was tired of Balin’s careful toeing around. “I remember everything. Do you want me to tell you about the time you were minding me and I convinced you to let me eat so much raw biscuit dough I was sick? Do you want me to talk about how I crowed and how flustered you were the day I was finally taller than you? Do you want me to talk about the time I brought you lunch at a ‘diplomatic meeting’ and caught you with your hand up the skirts of the–”

“That’s terribly tame compared to some of the things I caught you at with...” Balin broke off his automatic protest, snapping his mouth shut.

“Say his name,” Dwalin demanded, a low growl. “He was my betrothed, love of my life,  _say his name_.”

“...Nori.” Balin’s eyes were very direct – piercing as they watched Dwalin.

“Nori...” Dwalin’s voice broke as he repeated the name, and he couldn’t look at Balin. He rubbed his face with his hands, tugged on the thick shaggy mess of hair that had grown up on his head, like an unkempt bear. He had no blade to cut it for shame and no heart to braid it.

“Say you didn’t kill him, Balin,” Dwalin begged, and he knew his brother was more than sharp enough to pick up that he wasn’t asking for truth. He couldn’t ask his mother, Fundin wouldn’t lie to him. “I gave my life for his, but I failed him. I failed and I failed again, but just say you didn’t kill him. I can’t live with it if you killed him because I made myself his war dog.”

Dwalin’s eyes were tearing up now and he scrubbed at them with his palms. Balin was quiet for a long moment, far too long – it wasn’t a complicated lie Dwalin was asking for, why couldn’t he just give it?

“Please, just say it?” Dwalin begged, more sob than not.

Balin’s hand was gentle on his shoulder, his voice soft.

“Nori’s alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left!


	19. rejoined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, there should be mousover translations of the Khuzdul

Dwalin had a speech all prepared to convince Dori that he was himself again, that he needed no lengthy recovery, that he could be with Nori without being harmed. Without either of them being harmed.

He composed a speech as he nearly ran from the noble quarter all the way to the humble working quarter where Nori was from. He did his best not to run down any Dwarves in his way, excusing himself as he barreled past.

‘It’s true!’ the whisper followed him, ‘Dwalin’s really free’. People he knew called out to him, tried to talk to him, but he had no time. He called back apologies and did not stop. He ran all the way up to the door of Dori’s neat little tinker shop. Dwalin should have knocked and waited and been patient, but he had waited for so long and Nori was _alive_. He hit the door harder than he should, sending it crashing open with the little bell chiming.

He had a speech all ready, and every word of it left his head the moment he saw Nori. His betrothed stood from a work bench when he burst into the shop, beautiful golden eyes wide and his perfect red-brown hair in mourning braids. He took a quick step toward Dwalin, half a step back, rolled his eyes from side to side as if he would run.

“Nori,” it was the only word Dwalin had left. He was _alive_ , and Dwalin was alive, and here they were. He’d given it up but _here they were_.

“Dwalin.” Nori’s lips were trembling, his voice shaking. He took another hesitant step forward, and Dwalin needed him. Needed, desperately, to hold him. The tinker shop was small, just a few steps on Dwalin’s long legs to wrap Nori up tight in his arms to hold.

“Nori, _âzunguh, sanzigiluh, kurduh_. I missed you so much...” Dwalin rubbed his face against the wonderful softness of Nori’s hair, breathing the light lemon scent of his favorite hair oil. His Nori was finally in his arms and he would _never_ let go, never fail him again. He could feel the strength in Nori’s compact body, the power in his muscles, the knives hidden under his clothes, and stroked his back as he held him. Nori held Dwalin just as tight, one hand on the back of his neck and the other clinging to the crossed leather of Dwalin’s axe harness.

There were tears in Nori’s beautiful golden eyes when Dwalin drew back just enough to rest their foreheads together, to share breath, share their hearts. Dwalin gently cupped Nori’s cheek in his hand as he wiped away the one that fell with the ball of his thumb. Nori wasn’t the youth he’d once been, he was sharper and harder, older – but so was Dwalin.

“I’m not supposed to be with you...” Nori whispered, even as his hands pulled Dwalin in tighter.

“Shh,” Dwalin soothed. “They _just_ told me you’re alive. I won’t leave you. I would never leave you.” He ran the ball of his thumb across Nori’s soft lips, pink and trembling. Nori lifted his face, just slightly, and it was so easy for Dwalin to press his lips to Nori’s. It was the softest of kisses, the lightest brush of skin. He could feel Nori’s breath shuddering against his lips – taste the salt of the tear he’d brushed against them. Dwalin cupped the side of Nori’s face, held him close, never wanted to do anything but kiss him.

Nori pressed forward when Dwalin drew back, and Dwalin kissed him again. Firmer this time, he sucked gently on Nori’s bottom lip, and then Nori on his as they traded kisses back and forth between them. Nori’s hand had slipped off Dwalin’s axe harness, squeezing and kneading at his chest and stomach before it slid around behind him to pet his back.

“Come home with me?” Dwalin begged when they broke again. He’d waited so long and worked so hard to be able to bring Nori home to his little house, to be with his betrothed.

“Yes,” Nori breathed, finally a smile shining in his eyes as he pulled Dwalin back in. Their third kiss was all tongues, the yielding warmth of Nori’s mouth and the soft nip of his teeth. Dwalin groaned against Nori’s whimper, holding him close, petting and touching everywhere he could. Nori’s hand petted lower to take a firm grip on Dwalin’s arse.

“Nori, who was... oh.” Dori stopped at the door of the tinker shop, eyes wide and his hands clenched together in worry when Dwalin broke the kiss and glanced up at him. He couldn’t help stealing one last peck of a kiss from Nori’s soft lips before he tucked the smaller Dwarf’s head against his neck to address Dori. Nori snuggled into his furs, pressed his face against Dwalin’s neck, and Dwalin could _feel_ his smile.

“Dori, _nadaduh_ ,” Dwalin said carefully, nodding politely to him. He jumped with his whole body when Nori pinched his arse with the hand still resting on it. “Nori, _stop_ ,” he chided, laughing. It was just like old times. Just like they’d been. Nori’d never let him be too serious, never missed an opportunity to try to embarrass Dori.

“Dori, I’m going to take my betrothed home,” Dwalin informed him, rubbing his messy-bearded cheek against Nori’s soft hair again. “I’ll come by for our standing appointment for tea?” he suggested.

“You remember? You’re not...” Dori took a step into the tinker shop, wonder in his eyes.

“I made myself his, and he gave me back,” Dwalin answered. “I’m myself, and I’m taking Nori home now. Good day, Dori.” He pressed a kiss to Nori’s hair and stepped back, arm around his love’s shoulders and Nori’s arm tight around his waist as they exited the tinker shop and Dwalin turned them toward his house. Dwalin couldn’t keep the smile from his face as they walked together, with Nori reaching up to undo his mourning braids as they went.

They were going _home_.

  


The house, _their_ house, had been cold and neglected when they arrived – but it had not taken them long to open the ventilation and get a warm fire going. Dwalin picked up the cushions and blankets from their floor nest and resettled them on the bed.

Nori had never used the bed, in all the time they’d lived here. He’d preferred to stay with Dwalin on the floor. It hadn’t felt _right_ to use the bed.

It felt right now, sinking into the soft mattress bracketed by Dwalin’s big arms. Nothing in the world could feel more right than looking up into Dwalin’s eyes, feeling his breath on his lips, kisses as soft as falling snow. Dwalin’s overwhelming strength and weight on top of him, Dwalin’s cock buried deep inside him – big and warm and slick, and moving so slow and sure and gentle – as though he’d never belonged anywhere else.

It was not a wild lovemaking, there would be other times for that. _There would be other times_ , thank the maker’s stone and the seven fathers. It was all tenderness, all love, all soft touches and relearning the shape of each other’s bodies. Dwalin had brushed Nori’s hair, and Nori had brushed Dwalin’s lovely rough hair before they tumbled into bed, but they would need to brush again after this.

They breathed against each other’s lips, soft promises in the air to bind them as they’d been broken. ‘I missed you’, and ‘I need you’, and ‘I never stopped trying’, and ‘never again’, and ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’.

Nori was filled beyond full, held and loved and _known_ , and it was beautiful. He basked in the warmth and the pleasure, his legs wrapped tight around Dwalin’s solid body, his hands tangling in Dwalin’s rich pelt of hair. All his skin was finally touched and stroked, his mouth kissed, his eyes caught by the joy and wonder in Dwalin’s. It was perfect and overwhelming and neither of them could last, not after so long. They stayed together after they each reached climax in each other’s arms, no desire to move, the distance of uncoupling the last thing either of them wanted. Nori braided Dwalin’s beard into his two braids, though shorter than they’d once been, and stroked the shaggy mass of hair on his head.

“Will you shave the sides again into a crest?” he asked.

“No,” Dwalin shook his head, laughter in his bright blue eyes as he nuzzled his nose against Nori’s. “I’m not so proud as that anymore. Will you keep your peaks?”

“I’m not that cocky,” Nori answered, pressing a gentle kiss to Dwalin’s lips, “We’ll find other braids we like, together.”

Dwalin slid his hand under Nori to hold him tight, their bodies joined together and pressed heart to heart.

“Together,” he promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin  
> This colab was really wonderful for me. I was so privileged to get to bring nowitsaparty's beautiful (and painful) story to life, and to get her wonderful artwork too. She could not have been better to work with.  
> Thank you for sticking with us, and thank you nowitsaparty for trusting me with your baby.  
> <3,  
> -Thorinsmut
> 
> It's been a great couple of months working on War Dogs with Ts who (as we know) is so wonderfully talented, brilliant, and in my experience incredibly patient and understanding. Thank you ♥  
> Thank _you_ all for sticking with us and this emotional roller coaster of a story! Hope you enjoyed it, thank you so much for your support!  
>  (♥◡♥)  
> -Nowitsaparty


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